Kame Island Romance
by koinekid
Summary: A romance anthology series centering on Krillin and Eighteen. Most stories will be get-together tales, but other topics will also be explored. Latest story: Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper - Eighteen finds something interesting in Krillin's room
1. Carnival Attractions

" _Kame Island Romance" is designed as a romance anthology series centering on Krillin and Eighteen. The original story turned into a multi-part affair that remains unfinished (for now). Rather than break apart the flow of that story, I have renamed it "Kame Island Romance: The Article" and created_ this _, a separate story entitled, "Kame Island Romance."_

 _This story will house some of the tales I've been sitting on since Cj4Dj's original Chestnut Fest on tumblr in 2017 as well as a number of the stories I've written for CF 2018. I have stories in the works for after CF as well. Most will be Krillin / Eighteen get-together tales, but other topics will also be explored._

 _We'll start with my first entry for Chestnut Fest 2018, a tale of Krillin and Eighteen celebrating a special day, but only one of them realizes how special it is._

 _Further entries for this year's event will appear on at koinekid dot tumblr dot com first and be archived here later._

* * *

 _ **For Chestnut Fest 2018**_

 _ **Prompt: Sharing food / Anniversary**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **Carnival Attractions**

 **By koinekid**

A carnival was the last place Eighteen expected to spend her Saturday night, but Krillin's invitation had been so enthusiastic that she started to think it might not be so bad. If nothing else, it would get them away from Roshi and his nonstop questions about how they planned to spend their "big day." Whenever she asked what the old man meant, Krillin would change the subject.

Eighteen hated being kept in the dark. As a woman whose past was shrouded in mystery, she'd developed an aversion to secrets. But with each passing day, Krillin proved more worthy of her trust, so she would give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

Besides, brooding over what she didn't know would spoil her fun, and she had no intention of doing that—not when they were standing in line for "the Blue Blaze, Asia's most terrifying mini-coaster." Ha! The Blaze paled in comparison to the coasters at the amusement parks she used to visit with her brother. Sporting names like the Brutalizer and the Wrecking Ball, they left her more queasy than excited. But by the end of their second ride on the mini coaster, she was laughing and shouting as much as Krillin.

More rides followed: the chair swing made her stomach flutter, but it wasn't too bad, and who cared if the carousel and bumper cars were meant for children?

She also enjoyed the food. Her stomach might rebel later, but in that moment, she considered the food carts more appealing than a table at a five-star restaurant. The corn dog tasted surprisingly good—especially with mustard—but it left barely any room to try a piece of Krillin's warm pretzel or to share what he called the quintessential carnival food, the funnel cake.

The cakes came in five flavors, and Krillin let her choose which they would share, though he did recommend the red velvet with cream cheese frosting. "Wow," was all she could say. She couldn't decide whether to hug him or slap his hand away from the paper plate and tell him to get his own. But she _was_ nearly full, and splitting the confection with Krillin, their fingers bumping into one another as they reached in to break off pieces, wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Have you eaten this before?"

Krillin shook his head. "I've had red velvet but not as a funnel cake."

So, they were sharing a new experience. For some reason, that warmed her heart. "Let's have this next time, too."

He grinned. "Next time. It's a—"

 _Date?_

"—deal. You ready for more fun?"

She glanced with unease toward the midway.

Krillin patted his stomach. "Yeah, I think we're done with rides for the night. But there's still plenty to do."

He grabbed her hand to lead her to their next destination, then immediately let go. "Sorry, I got carried away."

She gave him an indulgent smile and offered her hand like a queen condescending to one of her subjects. "Just this once."

Laughing, he pulled her toward a long line of game booths. Some of the games she recognized—ring toss, horse shoes, hoop shot. Others she had never seen: games where the goal was to pop balloons with a dart, or to catapult a rubber chicken into a basket, or to earn points by tossing coins at a board. The game involved literally throwing your money away. Ha, she and her brother chose the wrong racket. Forget shoplifting—they should have started out as carnival workers.

While she examined the booths, Krillin excused himself, returning a few minutes later with two large handfuls of tickets. "Bet I win more than you do."

Eighteen smirked. "You're on."

Starting at opposite ends of the row, they proceeded from booth to booth until they won something from each. She proved particularly adept at the target-shooting game (for reasons best left in the past). Rarely did she waste more than five tickets on a game before discerning the trick or mastering the skill needed for a victory. By the time she met Krillin in the middle, each was toting an armload of prizes. She showed off her favorite, a key chain shaped like an octopus. "Looks like you," she teased.

"You're right, he is a cute little fella."

She chuckled and clipped the key chain onto one of her belt loops. "Touché."

Performing a quick count, they discovered they were tied for number of prizes. Victory, then, came down to the final game: the over-under ball roll.

The game board consisted of a rolling surface with slots at the end, each assigned a point value. Eighteen confidently exchanged her last ticket for three golf balls and rolled them effortlessly into the three middle slots. Not bothering to total her score, she reached for the prize of her choice.

"Loser," the carny declared. "Care to try again?"

"But I hit the middle slots!"

"For a combined total of _nine_ points. The goal is to get over eleven or under seven. That's what it's called over-under."

"How am I supposed to know that?"

The carny pointed toward a sign displaying the rules.

Eighteen stalked away, grumbling curses under her breath. She turned back to yell at Krillin to _let's go_ , only to find him handing the carny a ticket. That he still had several when she had used all hers irked her.

"Do you want to try again?" He offered her the golf balls, but she shook her head.

Returning to the booth, Krillin took his turn. The balls bounced a bit the first time, causing him to score a ten, but he soon discerned the rhythm of the board and ended up winning three of his next four attempts. For his prize, he chose a small chocolate brown teddy bear with a red bow tied around its neck.

It was the exact prize she'd been reaching for. The bear stirred something in her, perhaps the echoes of a forgotten childhood toy.

Krillin grinned, holding up the bear. "What do you think?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not very masculine."

He shrugged. "I like it. Want to play some more?"

"No. You ready to go home?"

"Sure, if you are."

She grunted an affirmative. He retrieved a pair of capsules from his pocket and offered her one, but she waved him off.

"Just combine mine with yours." She deposited her prizes in a heap on the ground, even unclipping the key chain and tossing it onto the pile.

* * *

Neither spoke during the flight back to Kame House. The magic of the evening had faded, and once inside, she marched to her room, declining his offer for a cup of tea, and preparing for bed. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door. Exasperated, she flung it open. "I said I don't want any…"

Finding herself face-to-face with the teddy bear, Eighteen just managed to suppress a silly grin at the pleasant feelings the toy elicited. She didn't manage to stop her rebellious hand from reaching out and stroking its soft fur.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to lower her hand. The bear hadn't come alone. "What are you doing, Krillin?"

The little man holding the bear above his head grinned. "Giving you this bear."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Wh-why would I want it?"

"You were staring at it pretty hard at the carnival."

"It's a child's toy."

"So? What's the point of growing up if you can't act childish sometimes?" He waved the toy in front of her face. "Hmm?"

She wanted it—bad—but she couldn't admit to that in front of him. To do so would be a sign of weakness. Rolling her eyes, she released an overly dramatic sigh. "Fine, since you went to _soooo_ much trouble."

With her thumb and forefinger, she grasped the bear by the ear and held it at a distance as if it might be diseased.

He looked at her expectantly.

"Is there anything else?"

His smile faltered. "No, I guess not. Just…I had a good time tonight, Eighteen, and I hope you did too."

"I suppose it beat sitting around doing nothing."

"Yeah, I guess it did. If you ever want to do it again…" He thrust his hands into his pockets and averted his gaze. "Anyway, good night. Sweet dreams."

Krillin headed for the stairs. As soon as he disappeared from view, Eighteen brought the bear to her face. Despite herself, she cuddled it and let out a contented sigh.

* * *

The carnival food caught up with her an hour later. Salt from the pretzel had chapped her lips and left her thirsty, and she decided to risk going to the kitchen for a glass of water. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but tonight, she wouldn't make the trip alone.

She had tossed the bear onto her bed as soon as she finished talking to Krillin. Less than a minute later, it was back in her arms, where it remained. Holding the toy gave her a sense of security, and for the moment, she was unwilling to let it go.

A strange sensation filled her chest when she realized it wasn't only the bear that made her feel this way; it was the man who gave it to her. Was she falling for Krillin? No, that was impossible. She was merely grateful for the gift—this silly, childish, sweet gift that no one else in the world would have thought to give her.

Placing her empty water glass in the kitchen sink, she was preparing to go upstairs when she spotted the calendar pinned to the wall. She froze.

Today's date was circled with a number of suggestions penciled in and crossed out:

 _Movie?_

 _Shopping?_

 _Narisawa?_

The last entry she recognized as the name of a very expensive French restaurant that had been reviewed in one of her magazines. Suddenly, she remembered Roshi teasing them about their "big day." Something about today in particular made it important. What was she missing?

It wasn't his birthday. That occurred last month when his friends invaded the island, and she'd been forced to sit through tedious conversations with the blue-haired scientist and the fat man with the sword.

She had decided to return to bed and mull it over when she noticed the sounds coming from the living room. Concealing the bear behind her back, she peered in cautiously and spotted the subject of her rumination flipping through the TV channels, looking thoroughly dejected.

 _Because of me,_ she realized. _Because I couldn't set aside my pride long enough to say a simple thank you._

She had to make this right.

Padding over in her socks, she sank down next to him on the couch. Krillin jerked upright, startled at the sight of Eighteen. The tank top and pajama bottoms she slept in made her look like a girl at a sleepover. The bear she held in a loose grip only added to that illusion.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He nodded toward the bear. "You don't have to keep that for my sake, you know?"

He reached for it, probably thinking she meant to return in, but she maneuvered it out of his reach. He blinked in confusion.

"Why did you invite me to the carnival tonight?"

He shrugged. "I thought it would be nice to spend some time together."

"But why _tonight_?"

He mumbled something she didn't catch.

"What?"

"I said, does it matter?"

"Please, Krillin. I want to know."

He let out a sigh. "Fine, but don't blame me if you don't like the answer. I-I'm more sentimental than most people, and I like to celebrate significant days."

He was really trying to draw this out. Any other day, she'd be annoyed. "And today is significant _because_?"

"Because one year ago today—" He checked his watch. "—make that yesterday, is the day we met."

Had it really been a year? Memories from the day flooded her mind: waking from suspended animation, watching her brother take revenge on the bastard that stole their humanity, the exhilaration of being free, reveling in her powers, and then…

"You wanted to celebrate the day I beat up your friends?"

That coaxed a smile out of him. "Granted, it was an inauspicious start, but it's the day I met you. That makes it special."

"Why didn't you say anything?

"I was afraid you'd laugh."

She wished she could deny it. Disappointed in herself, she rubbed her chin into the bear's soft fur. Unconsciously, she had begun cradling it against her chest. _Hmm._ She wondered, "Does that make this bear my anniversary present?"

Heat pooled in Krillin's cheeks. "I know it isn't much. I wanted to buy you an actual gift, but I didn't know how you'd react."

Her eyes traveled between the bear and the man who gave it to her, and she came to a decision. No longer concerned with how foolish or childlike she appeared, she hugged the bear tight, leaned over, and brushed her lips against Krillin's cheek. She had kissed him once before in mockery. This time, she meant it.

Before he could ask questions, she rose from the couch and hurried to the doorway.

Krillin turned and stared at her with awe, his hand rising to reverently touch the spot she had kissed.

She paused at the door. "Thank you for my bear, Krillin. I love it."

"Thank you for my kiss," he replied in a shaky voice.

"I know it isn't much," she teased.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

She smiled at him before finally exiting the room, still clutching her bear and full of giddy, confused feelings that would need to be sorted out another day.

* * *

Years later, they still celebrated this anniversary in private, while their wedding anniversary became a public affair. Only Roshi knew the significance of this day, and he always guaranteed that they had it to themselves, whether that meant babysitting their daughter Marron or the twin boys that arrived the year after the Universal Survival Tournament. And though they showered all three of their children with more toys than they could really afford, this bear alone was denied to them. It was Mama's bear, and it symbolized the seed of friendship that would one day blossom into the greatest joy she would ever know.

 **The End**

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_

 _ **Suggestions for further stories are also welcome. Message me here or visit koinekid dot tumblr dot com.**_


	2. If I Could Be a Superhero

_**For ChestnutFest 2017**_

 _ **Prompt: AU/Cosplay**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and other properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 _ **Note:**_ _This story was written following the airing of an episode of Dragonball Super wherein Eighteen made a particularly harsh comment to her husband. This didn't go over well with the K18 fanbase. Subsequent episodes illustrated her love for Krillin quite well, but they had not yet aired at the time of this writing. So, this story mentions Eighteen's remorse for her implying Krillin was unworthy of her._

 _The story is set after the events of the Universal Survival Arc._

 **If I could be a superhero…**

 **By koinekid**

"Krillin, this is stupid."

"It's supposed to be fun, babe."

"Why do I have to 'dress up' like a cyborg? I'm already a cyborg."

"But you don't look like one."

"How do cyborgs look?"

"You know, metal arms and glowing eyes and stuff." He gestured to her current costumed appearance.

Eighteen grumbled, "These contact lenses are uncomfortable."

"We'll only stay a little while, and you can take them out once we meet everyone."

"Fine." Eighteen tried to cross her arms, but her costume's bulk prevented her. With a few notable exceptions, said costume didn't look all that different from her normal attire. Her jeans were black instead of blue, and for her top, she had ripped off and discarded the striped sleeves from one of her old black and white tees. She had also tied back her hair—not in the pony tail she frequently sported while chasing their energetic eight-year-old around the house—but with pins, the goal being to make her look as if she had cut her hair short. She didn't like it.

By far the most annoying aspect of the costume were the fake cybernetic arms: store-bought gray silicone rubber pieces designed for someone with much thicker arms than her own. They flopped around every time she moved.

And the contacts made her eyes appear black with yellow pupils.

Krillin said she looked great, but he was hardly an unbiased observer: He'd tell her she looked fantastic wearing a sack and be completely genuine while doing so.

To keep their makeshift costumes looking their best, they took an air car, but finding an open area to land in this unfamiliar city proved a challenge. In the end, they had to touch down several blocks away, and now would probably be late.

Krillin rubbed her back as they walked. "I'm sorry you're uncomfortable, babe, but if we want to break into the superhero biz, we have to network."

Eighteen sighed, noting in appreciation that he avoided pointing out it was her idea for them to become superheroes in the first place. Now that Marron attended school and Krillin had a few years' experience as a cop under his belt, Eighteen decided it was time to take his law enforcement career to the next level. To be frank, she also missed fighting alongside him and felt it would bring the two of them closer together as a couple. Since her unthinkably cruel comment at the tournament, they desperately needed it.

She closed her eyes, willing tears not to fall. Krillin said he forgave her, but it would be a long time before she could forgive herself.

"And we network at a costume party while dressed as other heroes?" She spoke more calmly now, deliberately forcing any harshness from her tone.

Krillin shrugged. He wore a frumpy yellow jumpsuit with a white cape and red boots and gloves. "Apparently it's a big thing among their crowd."

They were nearing the house hosting the party, and Eighteen wanted to hug him in apology for her bad mood, but those silicone arms were in her way, so she settled for gently teasing him.

"You look funny in a bald cap, husband." She called him that whenever possible to try and associate the word with positive comments once more.

"Only because you wouldn't let me shave my head." His hair started growing back after the tournament, reminding her how attractive it made him.

Matter-of-factly, she stated, "I'm not losing that gorgeous hair of yours because of a costume party."

He grinned. "Gorgeous, huh?"

She nodded. "Sexy, too."

"I thought we were fighting."

"We were. Now we're making up."

They reached the door, but before he could ring the bell, she leaned down, grabbing him as best she could in her rubber arms and kissing him hard. He threaded a hand around her neck and pulled her down for more.

One of them must have leaned against the doorbell because it suddenly sounded. Neither of them paid attention until the door opened.

"Huh," a voice said. "Ever think you'd see the two of us making out, Genos?"

"Not outside of those online fan arts."

"You visit those sites?" Saitama raised a brow.

"To find and correct those disrespecting you, Teacher."

Eighteen blinked in surprise. In the doorway stood two of the heroes Krillin told her he most wanted to meet—Saitama, the so called Caped Baldy, and his student, Genos, the Demon Cyborg. She and Krillin had come to the party dressed as them.

And it was like looking in a mirror…sort of, a cracked mirror to be sure, but a mirror nonetheless. Saitama was dressed as a taller version of Krillin—complete with magic-markered moxibustion burns and the traditional orange uniform of the Kamesennin school.

Saitama extended his hand to Krillin. "We're big fans."

"Of us?"

"Yeah. Who wouldn't be? You guys are Earth's Special Forces." Saitama pointed to the insignia on his chest. "Is the kanji right? I had to copy it from one of the plush toys, and it might have been a knockoff."

Eighteen didn't catch her husband's response, because she was busy eyeing Genos. His outfit was a mockery of hers: blue jeans and one of the black-and-white long-sleeved tee shirts she had ruined to put together her own costume, except his obscenely large arms stretched the sleeves so far they looked like they might tear at any moment. He also wore a blonde wig that got the length of her hair right but not the style. He didn't bother wearing contacts to hide his eye color, though. His was a "natural" black with yellow irises.

She was about to ask him a question when she noticed his eyes lower to her chest. Ordinarily she would be put out and balling up her fist ready to strike—or expecting Krillin to do so. So, what if she could defend her own honor? It was her husband's responsibility! But then Genos spoke.

"You're a—a woman."

She planted her hands on her hips. "What gave it away?"

He nodded toward her chest, and she rolled her eyes.

"Teacher," he said, "You told me I was dressed as the male cyborg."

"Did I? Must have mixed up the numbers. Hey, you two, come on in. There's a lot of people itching to meet you. You're going to fit in around here just fine."

Before following Krillin and Saitama inside, Eighteen fixed a glare on Genos. Leaning in, she said. "I just want to know one thing."

Genos shifted subtly into attack mode. "Yeah?"

"Where…did you get that shirt? The stores back home stopped selling them, and I can't find replacements anywhere."

"Oh, a—a place downtown."

"Good," she said. "Remind me to get the details from you later. For now, I'll catch up with my husband. It's going to be a long night." And with any luck, she thought, an interesting career.

 _ **The End**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated**_

 _(A show with Eighteen and Krillin as a husband-and-wife crime fighting duo—would you watch that? I'd watch that.)_

 _ **Note:**_ _I wrote this pretty quickly. Apologies if it isn't very good and if the OPM characters are OOC (I'm sure they are). I've never read or watched OnePunch Man, but since I heard the creator was a DBZ fan, I couldn't resist writing this as an answer to the AU/Cosplay challenge._


	3. Amends

_Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **Amends**

 **By koinekid**

The house in the mountains would have been easy to find even if she had never been there. To her shame, she had.

While on a mission to murder a sick man in cold blood, Sixteen, Seventeen, and Eighteen found his home empty and abandoned. Not only did they trash the place, but to add insult to injury, Eighteen also raided his wife's wardrobe. She needed to rid herself of that hideous western wear she'd been saddled with since damaging her own clothes in a fight. Most of the woman's clothing followed a style Eighteen wouldn't be caught dead in, but a box in the back of the closet contained a suitable outfit: a tee shirt, vest, and honest-to-goodness blue jeans. Not the most fashionable clothes, but she made do, snatching up a pair of gloves, boots, and a few other items as well. That the boots fit was almost a miracle. What were the odds she would share a shoe size with the soon-to-be widow?

That was months ago, and to say a lot had changed since them would be an understatement.

Eighteen's heart pounded as she approached the front door and raised a shaky hand to knock. She almost dropped the package beneath her arm when she heard sounds coming from inside. Her instincts kicked into gear, and she was about to burst through the door and defend Goku's widow from whatever threat reared its head. It was the least she could do.

But upon listening closer, she recognized the source of the shouting had likely been the woman herself because the laughter of a child soon followed. Ordinary domestic sounds, then, not unlike those of Kame House when she got into a row with the old man and the pig, and Krillin inevitably failed to hold in his laughter.

Thinking of the little guy made her smile. Krillin was the reason she was alive today and, ultimately, the reason she took it upon herself to make this visit. She remembered well his actions on the day they met. After watching her dispatch four of his allies singlehandedly, he stood up to her and her companions. Quaking in his boots, he pleaded for them to spare Goku's life. They refused, of course, and their subsequent search for him led them to his house.

Eighteen didn't care what anyone said. Standing up to them while hopelessly outnumbered and outclassed was a true act of bravery—unlike the foolhardy rush-in-and-damn-the-consequences actions of his friends.

That bravery—combined with his later compassion in sparing her life and selfless wish to remove the bomb from her chest—led her to seek him out when she needed a place to stay. She could've easily found accommodations elsewhere, fought her conscience and returned to a life of crime long enough to rob a few banks and be set for life. But she wanted to be near him, if for no other reason than to find out what made the man tick.

And she was grateful that she had. In five short months of living with Krillin and his roommates, she learned more about her humanity than she thought possible. Most wonderfully of all, she discovered that she _wanted_ to be human again. It might not be possible to physically return to her pre-cyborg state or to regain her lost memories, but in all other ways, she longed to exemplify humanity. For such a task, she could ask for no better role model than Krillin. Nor, she suspected, a better friend.

Her thoughts were derailed by the door opening. She clutched the package to her chest and, in a moment of wild panic, nearly took off and took flight.

But wavering in indecision slowed her, and before she could flee, she found herself face-to-face with a twelve-year-old who could easily wipe her from existence.

Gohan grinned as soon as he saw her, then remembering his manners, politely bowed. "Hi, Miss Eighteen. What are you doing here? Did Krillin come with you?"

Eighteen squirmed. "No, I came alone."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed.

The corner of her lips rose in a half smirk. She tried not to take his remarks personally.

Realizing the implication of his words, the boy apologized profusely. She shook her head and was about to explain the reason for her visit when a booming female voice came from inside the house.

"Gohan, hurry up! I want to start supper soon."

"Yes, mom," he called. "We have a visitor."

"Oh, who is it?"

Eighteen's mouth went dry waiting for the boy's mother to arrive. Gohan noticed her unease and smiled in sympathy.

The woman who appeared at the door had entered the late stages of pregnancy. Krillin mentioned Goku's widow was with child when he died, but seeing in with her own eyes increased Eighteen's shame. Her only solace was that she and her companions hadn't been directly responsible for Goku's death. If they were, she doubted redemption would be possible.

Eighteen searched the woman's face for the emotions she expected: anger, shock, hate. What she found was more akin to curiosity.

Chi-Chi smiled. "I wondered when I would receive a visit from you. Won't you come in?"

Nodding, Eighteen followed the woman inside. Gohan too started to follow, but his mother sent him back out with strict orders not to return until he caught a fish from the nearby stream for their supper.

Eighteen entered the kitchen cautiously, irrationally expecting to find the room in disarray, drawers broken, cabinetry torn from the walls, appliances smashed. That was foolish. There had been plenty of time to repair the damage she and her companions left in their wake. Everything was neat and tidy, even more so than Kame House, which was remarkably well maintained despite being the abode of three bachelors and one bachelorette who knew next to nothing about housework.

Chi-Chi ushered her to the table and proceeded to the oven to make tea. Eighteen rose and asked to do that for her. She could probably make tea. She watched Krillin do it often enough. But Chi-Chi waved her off.

"Don't worry about the pregnant lady. I cooked a five-course meal the morning before I gave birth to Gohan."

"That's—"

"Impressive, I know, but with a husband who had an appetite like Goku's, I couldn't afford any downtime."

Eighteen frowned. "Your husband—the way Krillin talks about him, he sounds like a good man."

Chi-Chi smiled. "He was— _is_. He's still training in the afterlife. When I see him, I'll give him a piece of my mind for staying away so long."

"You expect to see him again?"

"If not in this life, the next."

"Mrs. Son, I'm—I'm sorry for—"

"It's _Chi-Chi_ , and save it for when the tea is finished."

Eighteen sat, contrite. She couldn't even apologize properly.

"Would you like a snack to go with your tea?"

"No, that's—"

Chi-Chi retrieved a packet of chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies from one of the cabinets.

Eighteen blinked. "Maybe just a couple."

"A woman after my own heart." Chi-Chi added the cookies to her serving tray. "Don't mention these to Gohan. I wouldn't want him finding them and spoiling his dinner."

Eighteen nodded.

"So, how are things on the island? I hear you're sleeping in Goku's old room."

"I am? I didn't know that."

"Yeah, only so many bedrooms in that tiny place. And living with Roshi and Oolong?"

"It can be trying," Eighteen admitted. "I've had to set very strict boundaries."

"Good for you. You give those two a centimeter, and they'll take all kinds of liberties."

"Tell me about it. I once found the pig posing as my hairbrush while the old man hid under my bed."

"I'm surprised how great our fellows turned out to be growing up in that environment." Chi-Chi turned off the burner and brought the tea and cookies to the table. "Goku was completely clueless. I had to teach that man so much during our first year of marriage." She laughed, oblivious to Eighteen's discomfort. "But Krillin could have become a world-class pervert if he didn't have a good head on his shoulders. And a good heart."

Eighteen smiled. "He does, the best."

"Are you and he…?"

"No, of course not. We're just friends."

"Too bad. If I hadn't met Goku…" Chi-Chi smiled wistfully.

Eighteen said nothing, but her lips compressed into a thin line.

Chi-Chi raised her teacup to hide an even bigger smile. "Don't worry. That ship has sailed. If you ever decide you want to be more than friends with a certain little man, you'll have the support of one of his friends for sure. I'll even give you a few pointers on landing him."

Eighteen could feel the heat pooling in her cheeks. "Th-thanks."

"That's not what you're here to discuss, though, is it? Go ahead, I'm listening."

Eighteen had rehearsed the words a dozen times, but given the chance to say them, they caught in her throat. How do you apologize for invading a person's home and threatening her loved ones? Chi-Chi sipped her tea and took a bite from her cookie, calmly waiting for the blonde to speak.

"I—I—here!" Eighteen offered the package she'd brought with her to the older woman.

Puzzled, Chi-Chi set down her tea and opened the box. Inside, she found a freshly laundered vest, tee shirt, and blue jeans and a pair of gold hoop earrings. "Are these for me?"

Eighteen nodded. "I hope I did all right washing them. I've never done laundry before. I practiced on some of Krillin's things. He wasn't happy." She thought she could still smell the faint aroma of Cell's digestive juices on the clothing, but Krillin—once he got over her shrinking _his_ clothes—told her she was imagining things.

"Um, thank you. They're very nice."

"They're…yours."

"Thank you," Chi-Chi said again. "But you didn't need to get me anything just to pay a visit."

"I—I stole them from you when I was...here last."

"Oh." Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh, I remember now. These were a gift from Bulma. She was trying to"—Chi-Chi made air quotes—" _drag me into the modern era_. I thought I threw them out."

Eighteen sighed. Her plan to make amends wasn't going nearly as well as she had hoped.

"Thanks for returning them. That's awfully considerate of you."

"Actually, that's not all." Eighteen hoped to avoid this last gesture, but her conscience—buoyed by Chi-Chi's lackluster response to the return of her clothing—would not be denied. _See, see?_ it demanded. Eighteen reached into her pocket. "There's something else I have to give back."

She held up the item, and Chi-Chi gasped.

* * *

Through the years, Eighteen and her brother shoplifted, then stole, millions of zeni worth of jewelry. At first, she wore the necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Later, they sold their ill-gotten gain. She felt bad in the vague sense of having done something she knew was wrong, but she got over it, reasoning that they weren't stealing from the clerks personally. Most of the stores they pilfered from were large chains that expected to lose merchandise, even budgeted for it. Shrinkage, they called it.

But the pearls were a different story. She knew exactly who she'd stolen them from—the woman sitting across from her.

After rummaging through Chi-Chi's closet, Eighteen noticed a jewelry box atop the dresser. Since she planned to kill the woman's husband and was in the process of stealing her clothes, adding a few trinkets to the haul seemed like no big deal.

The hoop earrings were a nice find, and she quickly affixed them to her ears. When she opened one of the box's lower drawers, she gasped. The pearls inside were exquisite. They called to her, and without conscious thought, she clasped them about her neck.

They didn't match the rest of the outfit at all, but gazing at herself in the mirror, she felt…well, ladylike. She imagined herself in fine restaurants and ballrooms and considered for the first time in a long while that there might be more to life than crime and mayhem.

Her brother barged in a moment later and broke the spell.

"You ready? Sixteen is getting antsy."

She glared at him. "Fine, let's go."

"Are you wearing jewelry?"

"Shut up, Seventeen."

In the months the pearls were in her possession, Eighteen grew to love them. She never told Krillin where they came from, and when he complimented her on them, it felt like a dagger going through her heart. Whenever Gohan visited the island, she avoided him for fear he would recognize the pearls and call her out on her theft.

Returning them would have been easier if she could have found a replacement set for herself. For months, she scoured department stores and jewelers but always found fault with the sets they had for sale. The pearls were the wrong size or color or too unevenly spaced, or the clasp was wrong.

Chi-Chi's pearls were one-of-a-kind, and no matter how hard Eighteen resisted, her conscience would not be ignored. She had to return them.

Sometimes, the quest to regain your humanity sucked.

* * *

Chi-Chi held out her hand, and swallowing hard, Eighteen relinquished the necklace.

"You stole my pearls? I thought you might have, but why?"

Eighteen lowered her eyes. Explaining how the pearls made her feel would ring hollow. "I saw them, and I wanted them."

Anger flashed in Chi-Chi's eyes. "That's supposed to make it right?"

"No," Eighteen said. "Nothing I did here was right. I have no excuse for any of the crimes I committed against your family." Taking a deep breath, she stood and did something she doubted she would ever repeat: she formally bowed to a person she had wronged. "I'm sorry for the pain I cause you, and I humbly beg your forgiveness."

"Sit, sit," Chi-Chi urged, embarrassed. "Krillin said that you were brainwashed to go after Goku. Is that right?"

"Programmed."

"I don't know what to call it, but if you weren't in control of your actions, you aren't responsible for them."

"But I _was_ in control. I could have disobeyed those orders. Doctor Gero was dead, but I still pursued your husband and would have killed him if given the chance."

Chi-Chi sat for a while, absorbing that. Eighteen remained in respectful silence, prepared to accept any invectives the woman wished to unload on her.

"If Goku were sitting here right now, what would you do?"

"Apologize," Eighteen whispered. "Ask for forgiveness. I'd still have the drive to kill him, but I'd fight it with every ounce of my being."

"So, you don't _want_ to kill my husband anymore?"

"I don't want to kill anyone!"

A sad smile crossed Chi-Chi's face. "Do you know what Goku would do if he were here?"

Eighteen shook her head. There was no telling.

"He would pretend none of it ever happened, probably forget it _did_ happen. Goku would forgive you, and since he isn't here, I'm forgiving you in his place."

A single tear rolled down Eighteen's cheek. "Thank you."

Chi-Chi chewed on her lip, then reached for Eighteen's hand. Resisting the urge to pull away, Eighteen allowed the woman to open her hand and lay the pearls in her palm."

"What are you doing? These—"

"Were never my style, and I bet they look wonderful on you."

"I can't accept these."

"You can, and you will. Accepting them is a condition of my forgiveness." She patted the box containing the laundered outfit. "Returning these is enough."

"But, I don't deserve—"

"I'm _very_ stubborn, Eighteen. If you're going to be my friend, you'll have to get used to that."

A disbelieving smile covered her face. "You want to be my friend?"

"Us girls have to stick together. Besides, do you know how many female friends I have? One, and as much as I love Bulma, I could use another. What do you say?"

"I'd like that." Eighteen's eyes drifted down to the pearls. "Are you sure?"

"I can tell how much they mean to you and how difficult it was to give them back."

"Out of everything I ever stole, they're my favorite." She blushed. "That's a horrible thing to say, isn't it?"

"Horrible but honest. May I?" Chi-Chi indicated that Eighteen should stand, hand her the pearls, and turn around.

Fighting against instinct, the deadly cyborg turned her back on a potential enemy and let the widow of the man she was programmed to kill place the pearls around her neck. She felt the woman's pregnant belly press gently against her back.

"There," Chi-Chi said. "Now they're not stolen. They're a gift from a friend."

Eighteen turned back. "I'll treasure them."

"I know." Chi-Chi wiped a tear out of her own eye. "Now that that's taken care of, will you stay for dinner?"

Eighteen considered it. "I'd better not. It's Krillin's turn to cook, and he promised to make my favorite."

"Oh, what's your favorite?"

"I don't know, but I'm curious to see what he thinks it is."

Both women shared a laugh before Chi-Chi walked Eighteen out. Standing in the doorway, they spotted Gohan approaching in the distance, a trout bigger than he was slung over his shoulder.

"Will you come for dinner tomorrow?" Chi-Chi said. "And I warn you, the only acceptable answer is _yes_."

"All right."

"And bring Krillin. Gohan misses him."

Eighteen smirked, recalling her brief conversation with the boy earlier. "Thanks, Chi-Chi. I'm sure Krillin will agree."

Gohan reached the door as she was taking her leave of his mother. Eighteen gave the kid a respectful nod like he was an adult. He always appreciated that. Then with a wave, she rose into the sky, felling altogether lighter than when she arrived. Raising a hand to touch her pearls, she smiled at her new friend, and flew away.

* * *

"Mom?" Gohan's voice brought Chi-Chi out of her reverie.

"Hmm? What is it, sweetie?"

"Was Miss Eighteen wearing Grandma's pearls?"

Chi-Chi ruffled her son's hair affectionately. "A friend gave Eighteen those pearls. I lost Grandma's a long time ago.

Gohan nodded, accepting her words at face value.

"Now, get inside. I need to clean that fish, and I want you in bed right after supper."

"But, Mom!"

"No buts. We're having dinner guests tomorrow, and I'm sending you shopping first thing. We need beef and rice and peppers…onions—why aren't you writing this down? Oh, and candles. Nothing like romantic lighting to get two people in the mood for love." Chi-Chi rubbed her hands together and laughed wickedly. "I'll have those two walking down the aisle in no time."

As his mother disappeared into the house, still talking to herself, Gohan shook his head. Context might provide some clue as to exactly what his mother was talking about. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"Gohan!"

"C-coming, Mom."

 _ **The End.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews encourage more stories.**_

 _ **Note**_ _: I intended to submit this as a response to the prompt for Chestnut Fest 2018 Day 1, but I didn't finish it in time. It also didn't fit the theme of "Aging / Reunion" the prompt called for. In my reckoning, this is the first time Chi-Chi and Eighteen meet, and both are still young women at this point. Technically, Chi-Chi is reunited with her pearls in the story. I'll let others decide whether that counts._


	4. Lessons Learned

_For Cj4Dj. Thanks for all the encouragement._

* * *

… _I told you that story, so I could tell you this story…_

 _"Lessons Learned" may be considered a loose sequel to "Amends," as it references events from that story. And though I did not write LL for Chestnut Fest 2018, it can function as an answer to the prompt, "Pillow Talk." Sort of._

* * *

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **Lessons Learned**

 **By koinekid**

Though her belongings occupied the room across the hall, most nights found Eighteen curled up next to her diminutive housemate, her face buried in the dark locks he grew to satisfy her curiosity and kept because they pleased her. On occasion, she sought the solitude of her own bed, but those occurrences were so rare that Krillin struggled to remember the last time he awoke without her warm body beside him.

When he did that night, he felt a pang of disappointment and pouted as if his expression might reach across the hall and lure her back. Then came relief as he spotted her sitting at the foot of the bed. _Eighteen is near,_ he told himself and almost drifted off to sleep.

But she was still too far away, and he was cold without her, so he patted the mattress and mumbled, "Come back to bed, babe."

He expected gentle teasing or subdued sensuality or, if he were lucky, genuine affection as her response. He'd even take a pillow thrown at his head. What he heard was a sharp intake of breath followed by the unmistakable sound of a sob.

He was on alert in an instant, sleep banished from his foggy brain. "Eighteen?"

She gave no answer. The slight shake of her shoulders, visible in the moonlight streaming through the window, confirmed his fear. She was crying. He wanted to take her in his arms, but her posture screamed at him to exercise caution, as if she might bolt at the slightest provocation.

Easing out of bed, he padded across the floor, careful to keep his distance. He stifled panic when he found her fully dressed, wearing a jacket with the strap of a duffel bag slung across her shoulder. The jacket wasn't the one he gave her for her "birthday" either, but the older road-worn one she had before she moved in.

"Going on a trip?" He couldn't keep the quaver out of his voice.

She lowered her head. "Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be."

"Did I do something to upset you?"

"No!" Her eyes shot up, and he winced at their bloodshot, puffy appearance. "You're great, Krillin, everything I could possibly… You're great."

"Then, what's wrong. Things have been so good lately."

"That's _why_ I have to go."

"I don't understand."

She sighed, a hint of the irritation he sometimes provoked in her rising to the surface. He nearly smiled at that.

"If things keep going well," she said, "you'll want to move forward."

"Is that so bad? Relationships tend to move forward when the people involved are in love."

She remained silent, and he feared he had pushed too hard.

"Baby—?"

Her voice came at last as a harsh whisper. "I saw you."

"Where?" He racked his brain for anything that, despite her protests, he might have done to offend her.

"At the shop. Looking at rings."

"Oh." Suddenly, he needed to sit, but the only convenient seat was beside her. "If you're not ready—"

"I _am_ ready, Krillin. That's the problem. When it was just dating, I thought it would be okay. I could be happy for a while before moving on. I never meant to fall in love, and I never wanted you to. I have to end this before it's too late."

Her eyes pleaded for his understanding; it was the first thing he ever denied her. "It was never just dating for me."

She groaned. "Krillin, no."

He risked a step toward her, then another until he drew close enough to caress her cheek. She tensed before her resolve crumbled and she pressed into his touch.

"And, Eighteen, it's already too late." He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, drawing a whimper from her throat. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Her gaze shot toward the window.

"Promise me, Eighteen." He reached for the strap of her bag, and she let him take it. Still, he refused to break eye contact as he backed across the room, fearing that if he looked away for an instant, she would vanish from his life forever.

Reaching back, he opened the top drawer of his dresser and groped for what he had hidden there.

It was gone.

Guilt shone in Eighteen's face as she raised and opened her hand. The day she saw him in the shop, he hadn't been looking. He'd been purchasing.

"I wasn't going to take it," she said. "I just wanted to look at it before I…"

"Before you left."

She nodded.

"And now?" He lowered the bag to the floor and came to sit next to her on the bed. She grew silent again, and Krillin chanced drawing her into a loose hug. "I won't force you to stay. We both know I couldn't. But I'm not too proud to beg."

"Could you really be happy with someone like me?"

"You mean a beautiful, courageous, intelligent—?"

"Violent, angry thief!"

"Eighteen—"

"The Red Ribbon Army didn't kidnap some innocent kids off the street. We joined them willingly. Krillin, my brother and I victimized innocent people long before we met Gero, and we _liked_ it."

"Do you still?"

"No!" Anger flashed in her eyes. "I hate that that was ever a part of me. But all the regret in the world won't change what I was."

"But it has. Eighteen, I've seen you grow as a person and take responsibility for your past. You didn't have to visit Chi-Chi and apologize, but you did."

Eighteen's hand moved unconsciously to the string of pearls around her neck.

Krillin smiled. "She said you offered to return those."

Eighteen frowned. "She also said that was between the two of us."

"Don't be too upset with her. I wasn't supposed to let on that I knew."

"It's funny. I've stolen millions of zeni worth of jewelry in my life, but there's just something about these pearls. I love them, and I couldn't wear them anymore because of the guilt."

"That's the good person shining through."

Eighteen shook her head. "Chi-Chi refused to take them back, called them a gift to commemorate our new friendship. How could she forgive me, Krillin? I stole from her and wrecked her home. I planned to kill her husband, your best friend, and she forgave me. How…how can you forgive me?"

He smiled. "It's easy. You taught me love."

She looked at him skeptically.

"It's no challenge to love someone who loves you back. I don't want to offend you, Eighteen, but you were pretty hard to love when you first moved in."

She hung her head. "You deserved better."

"Hey, none of that." He gently lifted her chin and kissed her cheeks and the tip of her nose. "Sure, it was difficult, but in the process, I got to know an extraordinary woman."

She snorted.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" At her subtle shake of the head, he explained: "I see strength. I see heartache and tragedy, yes, but you persevered. I see a heart open to those fortunate enough to be let in. I see a woman I'm proud to call my friend, the woman I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with. I see Eighteen with all her flaws and virtues, the woman who taught me love."

"You're the one who taught me! I didn't care about anyone before I met you. Except my brother."

"Then, we taught one another, because I didn't know the true meaning of that word until you came into my life." He squeezed her shoulders. "And we'll learn about the rest of the journey together, too. So, please, don't go."

Fresh tears fell from her eyes, but this time they accompanied the hint of a smile. "You're certain?"

"Never been more certain of anything."

The smile spread across her face without reservation. "I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."

Krillin took the ring from her palm and slipped it onto her finger. "Promise?"

"Yes," she whispered and sealed the pledge with a kiss.

They held one another for a while before she murmured, "Not exactly the proposal you were planning, huh?"

Their laughter dispelled any remaining tension.

"Actually, it was perfect. No, really. We got to talk about what was bothering you, and we'll enter our engagement on a stronger footing because of it. And that reservation at Chez Inno"—he was pleased to see her eyes light up at the mention of the famous restaurant—"will be a celebration. At least I won't be sweating bullets the whole night hoping you'll say yes."

She laid her head on his shoulder, the strength drained out of her. "Thank you for reassuring me. I'm sorry I got scared."

"That's why I'm here. And thank _you_."

She grinned. "For accepting?"

"Hell, yes for accepting. But also for not running off. You could have, but you stayed until I woke up."

"I think I wanted you to talk me out of it."

"I'm glad. Eighteen, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Taking his face in her hands, she vowed, "You'll never have to find out." No further words were needed as she slipped off her jacket, shoes, and jeans and snuggled into bed next to him. Their arms wrapped around one another, as the emotional wringer they'd experienced finally caught up with them. They awoke an hour later and made gentle love, the moonlight reflecting off her diamond ring and assuring her she made the right decision.

Nine months later, the fruit of that night's exertions entered the world, and Eighteen's heart ached for the joy she nearly denied herself. There was no question what to name their daughter. Krillin's love kept them together. It was only right that their little chestnut bear his name.

 _ **The End**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


	5. Not Like All the Others

_**For ChestnutFest 2018**_

 _ **Prompt: First Fight / Scars**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 _ **Note:**_ _The following story briefly touches on sensitive subject matter. Read at your discretion._

 **Not Like All the Others**

 **By Koinekid**

" _Not all scars are visible…but with time they might fade…"_

—José N. Harris

Krillin should have known better than to leave Eighteen alone with Roshi and Oolong. Their living arrangement was still too new—it wasn't even clear whether they should classify her as a longterm houseguest or a roommate. And boundaries, which would be obvious to anyone who wasn't a pervert, had yet to be firmly established.

But Yamcha was only in town for the weekend before starting another monthlong road trip with his baseball team, and Krillin was dying to see his friend. He invited Eighteen to join them for karaoke, but displaying her typical aloofness, she turned away without saying a word.

So, he left, but she never left his thoughts as he reminisced with his old friend. Krillin could barely work up the energy to sing more than a few songs. Yamcha understood.

"Worried about Eighteen?"

Krillin nodded sheepishly.

"It's okay. If I had a pretty girl waiting for me, I wouldn't stop thinking about her either."

He denied it, but Yamcha saw right through him and sent him back home, promising they'd meet up when he returned. "And, Krillin," he offered as a parting shot, "you'd better have some positive news to report, or I just might make a move on her myself."

They laughed. Krillin knew his friend was joking. Or hoped he was, at least.

So, his spirits were high as he walked through the front door of Kame House. They plummeted when he heard voices coming from upstairs.

"Move out of the way. Let me see."

"Quiet down, pig. You had your turn."

"But I didn't see anything. There's too much steam."

Krillin cringed. _They wouldn't, would they?_

He approached the stairs with trepidation, praying he wouldn't find what he already knew he would: his roommates crouched at the bathroom door, jockeying for position in front of the keyhole. The upstairs bathroom was the only room in the house without a modern lock, and now he knew why.

 _Master, Oolong, come on._

The pig lifted an ancient-looking hand-cranked drill and positioned it against the wall.

"Shh," Roshi hissed. "She'll hear."

"It's worth the risk."

Roshi snatched away the drill. "You should have acted earlier if you wanted your own peephole."

"Krillin would've stopped me. You'd think that spoilsport was still a monk the way he refuses to look at her."

"Oh, he looks. He's just better at hiding it than you are."

"You think he made his own peephole?" the pig asked. "His room shares a wall with the bathroom."

They looked at one another, then at Krillin's door. "Nah," they agreed.

"You're right about that," came Krillin's voice behind them. "I'd never stoop so low."

Oolong gulped, and Roshi tried to strike an authoritative stance. "Respect your elders, boy."

"Hand over the drill, Master."

"No, get your own." The tool, which he forbade Oolong to use mere moments ago, suddenly became a sticking point, and as the two struggled over it, Oolong inched closer to the keyhole.

"Hey, the shower stopped. The steam is starting to clear. I see leg. Glorious leg. Just another second, and I'll—" He felt a hand grip his shoulder. "Eep."

Behind him stood Krillin, holding the bent and broken drill in one hand with Roshi nowhere to be seen.

Oolong chuckled nervously. "Guess I'll be going now."

"You guessed right." Krillin propelled the pig harder than necessary toward the stairs. Sighing, he prepared to follow his roommates to the first floor and have the serious talk they frankly should have had before Eighteen moved in. But he stepped on something, lost his footing, and fell headlong into the door. On his way down, he discovered what had tripped him—the drill's handle, which must have separated from the rest of the tool during his struggle with Roshi. The drill bit lodged itself into the door with a twang, and before he recovered his wits enough to decide what to do about it, the door opened, and a very wet, very pissed Eighteen appeared, clad only in a towel.

 _Pissed_ wasn't entirely accurate. When the door opened, she looked merely confused. Myriad emotions then passed through those crystal blue eyes that always took his breath away: hurt, betrayal, sadness, and finally anger and hatred unlike any he had ever seen from her. Krillin felt very small in that moment, and guilty. Not for anything he had done but for what he failed to do—protect her. He wasn't her boyfriend. Probably he never would be—certainly not after what she thought he had done. But she was a guest in his home, and the safety he owed her as such, he failed to deliver.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"You're sorry." Her anger twisted the word into a curse. "I guess that makes it all right, doesn't it?"

"I know how this looks, but I didn't—I wouldn't."

"Bullshit!"

He scrambled backwards as she advanced on him. But the hallway was narrow, and his back hit the wall almost instantly. She grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him as if he were a child and slammed him into the wall. The Sheetrock crumbled around him.

"Eighteen, please. I can explain."

"I don't need your explanation. I know _exactly_ what you were doing—the same thing all you men do. You're just like those perverted roommates of yours, just like…" Her eyes compressed briefly, fighting back tears. "At least they're honest about what they are."

"But I'm not like that. I would never disrespect you—"

"Liar," she shrieked, drawing back her fist. As she did, her towel began to slip. Rather than raise his arms to defend himself, he slammed his eyes shut and averted his gaze.

Her grip slackened, and she dropped him in her haste to secure the towel. "Why'd you look away?" she spat. "Isn't this what you wanted to see?"

"No, well, I mean, not like this."

"Oh, so you'd rather watch a woman who doesn't know she's being watched. Is that what gets you off?"

"Eighteen, please. I wasn't spying on you. It's all a huge misunderstanding."

"You already admitted you want to see me naked. Admit the rest so you can die with a clean conscience."

His mouth went dry. "I—I admit…"

She cracked her knuckles. "Yeah?"

"I do think about seeing you…naked, but never without your consent."

"And what makes you think an ugly troll like you could ever get that?"

He shook his head.

"No answer?" Her face contorted in fury. "That's just as well. Whatever little fantasies you have about me, get over them. You're no knight in shining armor, and I'm sure as hell no pure and innocent damsel. That old pervert who turned me into a cyborg had his eyes and hands all over me—"

"That doesn't make it right for me to look. Or for anyone else."

"You're just like _everyone_ else!"

"I'm not. I can't answer for what others have done to you. All I can say is how sorry I am, that I never would have hurt you. And you didn't deserve it."

Her hands shot up, and he thought it was all over. But they rose to cover her face. Sobs racked her lithe frame as she sank to the floor.

Krillin pushed to his feet and walked cautiously toward her. "Eighteen?" He placed a hand on her bare shoulder.

When she met his gaze, the fury and hate were gone, and she looked so vulnerable that he nearly wept with her. She reached toward him, and for a heartbeat, it appeared she would accept his comfort. Then, she slapped his hand away and fled for the safety of her room.

He stood motionless, torn between the desire to grant her the privacy she wanted and the ache in his heart that demanded he comfort someone he had come to care for deeply.

Knocking on her door, he called her name. She gave no answer, and he was about to give up when he heard the sound of glass shattering. With no time for debate, he shouldered his way into the locked room, tearing the door from its frame in the process.

Shards of broken glass littered her bed and floor. He found her wet towel discarded in the middle of the carpet. Several dresser drawers had been flung open in haste or frustration. The majority of her clothes were still there, so she hadn't packed. Most likely, she had paused only long enough to dress before exiting through the window.

Why she felt the need to go through the window without opening it first was anybody's guess. Probably she needed something to take her anger out on. _Better it than me,_ he supposed.

Still, he couldn't help but worry and wonder if he'd ever see her again. Eighteen might return for her clothes in the middle of the night without him or his roommates noticing. Worse, she could abandon them altogether and steal what she needed. He'd hate to see that. She'd come so far in such a short amount of time. Returning to a life of crime would be a waste.

"Be safe, Eighteen," he whispered. "Please come back."

* * *

That night Krillin lay in bed pondering the events of the afternoon. He spent the hours following Eighteen's departure patching the broken window and clearing the glass from her floor and bed. He'd fly to the nearest town tomorrow and buy the materials necessary to replace the window. It wouldn't be cheap, but he'd pay for it himself. Though he wasn't entirely to blame for this fiasco, he could've handled it better. He'd also pay for the door, which was his fault.

He found time to talk with his roommates as well and made it clear that, if she did return, she was off limits. One peep, one lewd comment, one inappropriate look in her direction, and there would be hell to pay. Threats proved unnecessary, though. The cracked wall in the hallway had shaken them up already.

Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did, he dreamed of her.

Instead of jeans and a long-sleeved tee, dream Eighteen wore a long white dress. Not a wedding gown. This was of a simpler cut. Krillin was there too, an older version of himself with his hair grown out, dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting orange polo. They strolled on the beach. It might have been Kame Island. He couldn't be sure. And between them, holding onto a hand each, was a little girl with Eighteen's blonde hair and his dark eyes and noseless face. They were a family—he could tell—and it may have been the happiest dream of his life.

The little girl ran ahead, laughing and calling Papa and Mama to see what she found. As they knelt beside her, she began to happily bang two seashells together. _Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap._

Krillin's eyes jerked open. Disappointment set in as the day's events came crashing back into his consciousness. He desperately tried to recapture the dream. If he concentrated, he could still hear the sound of his daughter tapping those seashells together.

In fact, the tapping grew more insistent, and it no longer sounded like seashells.

He sat up in bed, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted Eighteen floating outside his window, tapping on the glass.

He threw open the window, but when he started to speak, she placed a finger over her lips and beckoned him to join her outside. Pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shorts—he already wore boxers and a tee shirt—he followed her into the night.

They flew silently for several minutes. Some dark, morose part of himself wondered if she meant to draw him away to his doom, but that wasn't her style. If she intended to kill him, she'd do it in broad daylight in front of his friends. Correction, that's what the old Eighteen would have done if she decided to kill someone. And _she_ was becoming a more distant memory with each passing day.

With little warning, Eighteen stopped, and he nearly collided with her. She raised a brow, and he smiled sheepishly. Nodding toward the island below them, she began her descent. He followed.

The moon was out in full, reflecting like a spotlight off the water of a lagoon. Eighteen removed her boots and socks and rolled up her jeans before wading out into the water. Looking back at Krillin, she extended a hand. They waded for some time in the shallow water, holding hands and enjoying the sounds of the night, the gentle surf lapping the shore, the crickets chirping, the breeze rustling the palm fronds.

Krillin pictured the little girl from his dream. She'd love this place, and his heart ached at the thought that she would never see it.

At last, Eighteen broke the silence. "This is my favorite place to think. It's nice during the day, but at night…well, you can see for yourself."

"Thank you for sharing it with me. It's beautiful."

"Krillin, you—you can ask ask me out if you want."

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded, her attempt to hide a blush unsuccessful in the moonlight. "You think I deserve to be treated like any other woman, right? Then, ask me out."

"W—would you like to go out with me?"

"What would we do?" she asked.

"Anything you want."

She harrumphed. "You're the one asking me out. You should have a plan."

"All right, um…" He racked his brain for an appropriate scenario. "There's this café a couple of islands over. We could go there to talk, get to know one another better. Then take a walk in the nearby park."

She appeared to mull it over before her face broke out in a smile she'd been trying to hide. "I accept." Then she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was the sweetest kiss he'd ever received, full of hope and longing, a far cry from the scornful, almost violent kiss she gave him on the highway all those months ago.

Straightening, she chewed her lip.

"Are you all right?"

"Krillin, we—I need to take things slow, so…so that I get used to the idea of a man touching me out of purity. Okay?"

Throughout all of this, they had never released their hold on one another's hands. He squeezed hers in reassurance. "Okay."

Relief flooded her face. Had she really thought he'd say no?

"So, what now?" she asked.

He took a deep breath of ocean air before releasing a contented sigh. "It's a gorgeous night, nice breeze in the air. Would you walk with me on the beach?"

She smiled. "Maybe we'll find some seashells."

"Yeah," he agreed, "wouldn't that be something?"

 **The End.**

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


	6. Worst Laid Plans

_**For Chestnut Fest 2018**_

 _ **Prompt: Jealousy**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **Worst Laid Plans**

 **By koinekid**

Yamcha adjusted his tie in the mirror and shot a dark look at his best friend and roommate. The shapeshifting cat floated over his shoulder, grinning at him.

"It isn't a date, Puar!"

"Are you dressing up?" the cat asked.

Yamcha sighed. "Well, yes."

"Is she dressing up?"

"Probably."

"Are you going to dinner?"

"Yes, Puar, we're going to dinner. We may even get dessert."

"To share?"

"No, not to share. Separate forks, separate plates, on separate sides of the table. In separate _restaurants_ if I had my way."

"How is this not a date?"

"Because neither of us have a shred of romantic interest in the other."

"Why not? Don't you think she's pretty? I think she's pretty."

"Gorgeous. One of the most beautiful women on the planet."

"But you're not attracted to me?"

" _Me?_ What? Puar, stop that!"

The cat had shapeshifted into a breathtaking blue-eyed blonde wearing a slinky red dress that showed off copious amounts of cleavage. Reaching up, the facsimile of a woman brushed her hair behind her ear in an all too familiar gesture.

"You didn't answer me," Eighteen said in Puar's voice. A moment later Eighteen vanished and the cat reappeared in a poof of smoke. "Are you attracted to her?"

"No way. She's much too quiet, and when she does speak, she's pushy, arrogant, sarcastic—"

"You know, you basically described Bulma…except for the quiet part."

"Shut up, Puar."

"I'm just saying."

"Then how about this? Krillin, one of our oldest friends, is head over heels in love with her—whether he'll admit it or not."

Puar blinked, then thrust his paws onto his hips. "You big jerk! Why are you dating the woman Krillin loves?"

"It's not a date!"

* * *

Her dress was black with long sleeves, an off-the-shoulder neckline, and a skirt that ended just above her knees. It drew attention to all the right places in a subtle, tasteful way that Krillin loved. He should have. Eighteen bought the dress with him in mind.

As she sat in the restaurant across from Yamcha, her thoughts kept returning to the forlorn look in Krillin's eyes when they left for their so-called date, a look of finality as if, in shutting the door to Kame House, she was shutting the door on his hopes and dreams.

It very nearly broke her heart, and she hadn't spoken for several minutes into the flight, focusing on the hum of the air car's engine and desperately holding back tears.

Why hadn't Krillin spoken up? She'd given him the opportunity, asked him point blank after he complimented her dress, "Is there anything else you want to say to me?"

 _Tell me to stay with you!_ her inner voice practically screamed. Krillin only shook his head.

Hope soared a heartbeat later when he placed a hand on her arm. Through her silky sleeve, she could feel his caress and nearly moaned. But he merely said, "Yamcha's a very lucky man."

"Thanks." She jerked her arm away and leaned against the wall, staring into space and waiting for her date to arrive.

The waiter who arrived to take their drinks order wanted to lecture her on proper table manners, she could tell. She also didn't care. If she wanted to sit with her head propped in her hands, she would. It was an appropriate position when one was both miserable and bored out of her skull.

The restaurant was proving a disappointment. It posted great reviews, and she secretly wanted to dine here for months. But she'd never mentioned it because Krillin would have found a way to make it happen. And she knew he couldn't afford it.

Even if the restaurant were perfect, it wouldn't have mattered. Because the wrong person sat across the table. Her date was too tall. He lacked a double row of incense burns to add character to his forehead. And he was nervously chattering like an idiot.

Why did she agree to this stupid plan in the first place? Oh, yeah. 'Cause the man she wanted refused to make a damn move, and when his idiot friend approached her with a scheme to force a reaction out of her should-be suitor, she had been desperate enough to say yes. Big mistake.

Krillin reacted, all right—by bottling up his emotions and watching her walk away with another man. She wanted to scream or snap the table in half.

The idiot was talking again, probably telling another baseball story she couldn't care less about. Krillin always held her interest. He would've made half a dozen observations about the pretentiousness of the restaurant by now. Not to be cruel, but to make her smile. And her smile would be enough for him. Yamcha seemed offended that she didn't laugh like an airhead at his lame jokes. Some of Krillin's jokes were corny, but none were lame. Even when she rolled her eyes, she still had a good time.

She sighed. _I miss him._

Had she spoken aloud? She must have because Yamcha stopped rambling. When she stared at him, he laughed and rubbed the back of his head in a nervous gesture that reminded her of Krillin.

"You know," he said. "I had a hard time convincing Puar this wasn't a date."

She crinkled her brow and made the mistake of asking, "Who?"

"Puar, my best friend. He's a shapeshifting cat."

She looked at him as if he were a moron. "Like the pig?"

"Oolong? Yeah, they actually went to school together."

Eighteen turned away, not at all interested in this topic of conversation.

"That's a lovely dress, Eighteen."

 _Who asked you?_

"I bet Krillin's jaw hit the floor when he saw it."

She turned slightly in Yamcha's direction. "He told me it was beautiful."

"That must have been nice to hear."

She shrugged. "It's not like it was a revelation. I bought the dress for him."

"You really love him, huh?"

Warmth flooded her cheeks. "If I did, I wouldn't tell you before I told him."

"Fair enough." Yamcha leaned across the table. "Hey, do you want to get out of here?"

Her brow rose, and a dangerous, threatening expression came over her face. "To do _what,_ exactly?" If he tried to take her to a love hotel, she'd tear out his spine and shove it straight up his—

"N-nothing." He waved his hands in front of his chest. "I can tell you're unhappy, and I'm having a poor time myself. No offense. So, how about we bring the evening to a close?"

She nodded. It was the first good idea he'd had all night.

"Still, I promised you dinner, so if you'd rather stay…"

"I don't have an appetite."

"Let's head back then. We've probably stayed out long enough to get Krillin good and jealous."

Eighteen doubted it. On the flight back to the island, she mused that Krillin would let her make her own decisions even if he suffered for them. The thought of Eighteen and Yamcha together could be eating him up inside, and he wouldn't say a word if he thought his friend could make her happy. It was endearing and infuriating at the same time. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Eighteen wanted a man willing to fight for her. Maybe Krillin just wasn't that man.

She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the air car landing on the beach or the change in air pressure as Yamcha opened the door and moved around to the passenger side. She even accepted, without complaint, the hand he offered to help her exit the vehicle.

A tear slid down her face as she contemplated what to say to Krillin. The next moment she felt a thumb wiping that tear away and looked up to see Yamcha staring at her in concern.

* * *

His touch sent an icy chill through her body, and for the time it took his hand to withdraw, she seriously contemplated killing him.

Unaware of his peril, Yamcha turned to survey the house, while Eighteen remained stock-still, trying to calm herself so she wouldn't attack him.

"Hey," he whispered. "Don't look now, but Krillin is watching us."

She ignored his warning and was able to make out a silhouette in the kitchen window. It _might_ be Krillin.

"I have an idea to get him motivated if you're willing to try it."

At this point, she just wanted the evening to be over. "I guess. What do you have in mind?"

He swallowed hard. "Let me show you."

* * *

Yamcha knew he was risking his friendship with Krillin by inviting Eighteen on a date. Even if everything turned out well, his friend might never forgive him. Dare he try this last gambit?

He looked into Eighteen's questioning face. She was pretty. Puar was right about that. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Just remember, we're doing this for Krillin."

* * *

Her eyes widened as he grabbed her shoulders and leaned in. But the only thing his puckered lips felt was the impact of her fist rendering him unconscious.

* * *

"Are all your friends perverts?" Eighteen stomped into the kitchen. "Well?"

Krillin shook his head, thoroughly confused. He'd just chased his master upstairs to stop him from spying on Eighteen. "Why do you say that?"

"You saw. That bastard tried to kiss me."

"Yamcha?" Krillin felt his stomach drop to his feet.

"You know any other bastards I made the mistake of going out with tonight? Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?"

"I can't believe Yamcha would do that."'

Eighteen advanced on him. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"That's not what I meant."

"The moron came at me with his lips puckered up like a fish. What's your explanation?"

"That does sound pretty damning. You, uh, didn't actually…" He motioned to his lips. At her glare, he amended, "You didn't hurt him too bad, did you?"

She crossed her arms. "What do you care?"

"He's my friend. I don't want to see him killed."

"I didn't kill him, all right. I just knocked him out. Might have broken a few teeth."

"Eighteen!"

"I'm kidding, but it would have served him right."

The electric kettle on the counter began to bubble. Krillin had been in the process of making tea. He shut it off and looked at her. She nodded, and he returned with two cups with milk, no sugar, just the way she liked it.

Accepting one gratefully, she joined him at the table. As she sipped, he rubbed her back, and she leaned into the touch.

"So…I guess you won't be going out with him anymore."

"What's it to you?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

"Is that all it is—curiosity?"

"What else would it be?"

"I don't know, Krillin. You tell me."

The movements of his hand stopped. Their eyes met. He licked his lips. "I care about you, Eighteen, and…"

"Yes?" She set down her tea and leaned closer.

"I…" He bit his lip. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Damn it, Krillin."She stood abruptly, knocking over her chair, and stalking to the door.

"Where are you going?"

In truth, she had no idea, but she said, "To check on Yamcha. His air car hasn't taken off yet."

Krillin stood. "Good idea. I'll go with you."

She waved him off. "No need. We'll want privacy in case I decide to kiss him."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"Got to find some way to apologize, and if I did knock out some teeth, no other girls will want to kiss him for a while. Hell, maybe I'll ask him for another date." She grasped the doorknob.

"Wait," Krillin cried. "Don't go."

"Why not?"

"Because…" His eyes darted about the room in search of some nonexistent help. As her patience ran out, she started to turn the knob. In a panic, Krillin shouted, "You shouldn't be with Yamcha! You should be with me!"

"Krillin." _You're fighting for me. Thank you._ She wanted to take him in her arms, but he wasn't finished.

"Hear me out. I've loved you since we met. I know I'm not much to look at, and I'm not some big baseball star, and I'm not loaded with cash. I can only offer you my heart, my devotion, and my promise to love you through this life and the next, and…and…Eighteen?"

Tears streamed down her face, and no one was more surprised by that fact than she. "I never cared about Yamcha."

"You didn't?"

"Know why?"

Krillin shook his head.

"Because for all his wealth and fame, he can't hold a candle to you." She closed the distance between them and took hold of both his hands, raising them to her lips and kissing them tenderly. "You taught me what it means to care about another person. Do you think I'm going to abandon you because some guy starts flashing cash?"

"Of course not, but attempts to play the kissing bandit aside, Yamcha is a decent guy."

"But he isn't you. He isn't the man I love."

A smile lit up his face. "The man you—?"

"You heard right: I love you, Krillin. I know I'm materialistic and greedy. I want the best clothes and the finest things. I always will, but I'd trade them all for a life spent with you."

"Then, why did you go out with him?"

"To make you jealous. I waited for ages for you to make a move, and you never did."

Krillin hung his head. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't imagine that you wanted to be with me."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "Most women don't want to date a dwarf, Eighteen."

"You're not a dwarf, Krillin, and even if you were—"

"It wouldn't make a difference? It has to every woman I ever showed interest in."

She took hold of his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. "You didn't know _me_ before. I kissed you the day we met, or had you forgotten?"

"I'll never forget that day, but you can't honestly call that kiss romantic."

"Romantic, no, but affectionate. I gave you that peck on the cheek because I wanted to. I played it off as intimidation so my brother wouldn't make fun of me."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"How's this for serious? I've never kissed a man on the lips. _Ne-ver_. And I am going to kiss you. Not just once but every day for the rest of our lives together." She grinned and added, "Even on days I'm mad at you."

"So, you and Yamcha really never—"

"Wouldn't even let him hold the door for me."

Krillin breathed a sigh of relief.

"Does it bother you," she asked, "the thought of another guy touching me?"

"Of course."

"Then I guess our plan worked."

"I suppose."

Her grin turned into a frown. "I'm sorry for making you feel bad. If you were dating someone else, I'd want to kill her."

"You never have to worry about that."

"Not getting down on yourself again, are you?"

"No, just speaking the truth. There's only one woman in the world for me, and she's standing right here."

"Good. Then how about you show this lucky lady how much she means to you?"

"I think that can be arranged." Then, with one hand on her hip and the other threaded through her silky hair, he drew her mouth to his and spent the next several minutes demonstrating just that.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Yamcha said. "I take her out to dinner, and you end up with the good-night kiss?"

"That's about the size of it," Krillin agreed, although _good-night make-out session_ would be more accurate. Eighteen insisted she was a slow learner who would require frequent and thorough demonstrations of her new boyfriend's affections. The first lesson alone lasted twenty euphoric minutes before Krillin's conscience compelled him to check on Yamcha. Eighteen didn't offer to go with him, but she did fetch an icepack from the freezer and wrap it in a dish towel. That was as close to an act of kindness as Yamcha would get from her tonight. As Krillin was leaving, she told him to hurry back. He watched her ascend the stairs and bypass her bedroom in favor of his.

Tempting as it was to leave Yamcha to fend for himself, Krillin could spare five minutes to send him on his way. Seeing him in person, he suspected it would take longer. He winced as Yamcha pressed the ice pack to his swollen cheek. His split lip and black eye didn't look good either.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Krillin had found his friend semi-conscious with his head resting on the cool leather seat on the passenger side of his air car.

"I don't suppose I'd be welcome to crash on the couch?"

Krillin sucked air through his teeth. "Probably not the best idea tonight."

"I figured. Do you mind if I bunk out in one of the beach chairs?"

"I'll get you some blankets."

By the time Krillin returned, Yamcha had settled in. He'd left his jacket and tie inside the car and stripped off his shoes and socks. Krillin sank into the chair beside him and handed over the blankets.

"Thanks."

Krillin only nodded.

Silence hung over them for a while, neither willing to broach the topic that filled the air between them. When Krilin started to rise, Yamcha blurted, "Are we good? I'd hate to lose our friendship over this."

Before responding, Krillin took a deep breath. "If I were to be mad at you, I'd have to be mad at Eighteen. And I refuse to do that. I don't know which of you concocted this plan…"

Yamcha started to raise his hand.

"…and I don't want to know, but you both agreed to it. It hurt like hell seeing the two of you together, but I don't know whether I would have worked up the courage to tell her how I feel otherwise. 'Are we good?' We will be. Just give it time."

Yamcha took a moment to absorb Krillin's words. Then, "Thanks, pal."

"Sure."

"And, Krillin, if you want to hit me, it's okay. I deserve it."

Krillin broke into a grin. "Nah. My girlfriend hits harder than I do, and she already did a number on you."

"Girlfriend already? Way to go, man."

"Heh, yeah. But, now that you mention it…" Krillin scratched his chin. "Eighteen did insist it was my responsibility to stand up for her honor. So…"

Yamcha gulped. "I understand."

Krillin drew back his fist and lightly tapped his friend on the arm. "If she asks, I flattened you."

They shared a laugh, grateful to ease the tension between them.

"But it should go without saying," Krillin added, "that if you ever try to kiss her again—"

"I know. You'll make good on that threat to punch me."

"No, I'll twist off your head like a bottle cap."

Yamcha blanched. "You—wait—what?"

"Have a good night." With a final clap on the shoulder, Krillin walked back to the house, whistling a tune and leaving behind a bewildered and slightly nervous friend to ponder the influence his new girlfriend was having over him.

 _ **The End**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


	7. The List

_My previous story involved Eighteen and Krillin coming together through the actions of a friend. This time, Eighteen takes matters into her own hands._

 _ **For ChestnutFest 2018**_

 _ **Prompt: Friends to Lovers**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **The List**

 **By Koinekid**

This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. Eighteen had a straightforward plan: pull Krillin aside after dinner, sit him on the couch, chase out their roommates, confess her feelings, and celebrate with a kiss.

All went as intended until she told him how she felt. Then, instead of taking her in his arms, he sat rigid, looking confused, and asked the one question she hadn't prepared to answer: "Why?"

She was ready for, _How long?_

—As long as I can remember—

Or, _How did you hide it?_

—It wasn't easy—

But, _Why?_ Did he want a list?

It took all her courage to speak her heart the first time. How humans did this sort of thing repeatedly was beyond her.

Eighteen wasn't stupid. She'd watched couples in the mall kissing and holding hands, hers itching to reach out and clutch his but falling short when she lost her nerve. Observation was one thing, acting quite another. She'd never done anything like this, never known anyone she wanted to do this with. It was her dumb luck to fall in love with an idiot who couldn't see what was right in front of him.

She felt a tirade coming on and could see the next few minutes play out in her mind: she'd lay into him good, then march upstairs, slam her door, and brood for the rest of the night. Maybe the next several nights.

Her eyes fell on his lips, still twisted in confusion. _Damn it_ , she wanted her kiss! She'd worked herself up all day, fantasizing about it. No way would she let him off the hook.

Briefly, she considered leaning across the couch and laying one on him, trusting the movements of her mouth to convey the truth where words had failed her. But Krillin would be too stunned and end up ruining it. Besides, his heart wouldn't be in it, and that was unacceptable. Their first kiss must be an expression of the love they shared.

Nothing for it, then. She would have to try once again to persuade him using her words.

"Because…" she began.

"What?"

"Because you say my number like it's a name." At his perplexed look, she explained: "You asked why I love you, and that's my answer. When you say _Eighteen_ , it sounds like a name."

He seemed intrigued. "How do I do that?"

"I don't know. It's just _different_ the way you say it." Sensing he wasn't convinced, she added, "Did you know I considered choosing a name for myself after I moved in? I even narrowed it down to a handful, but after hearing you say _Eighteen_ a few times, I didn't need to."

"I'm sure our friends never meant to—"

"I don't care what _they_ call me. I care what _you_ call me."

Krillin smiled—just a little.

Encouraged, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "That's not the only reason. Shall I continue?"

He nodded.

"You go all out on a meal even though I can't eat much."

"It's just as easy to cook for an extra person."

"Krillin, please. When I'm here, you grill steak. When I'm away visiting my brother, you make sandwiches and ramen."

He raised a brow. "How would you know what I cook if you're gone?"

"The others complain about it for days after I return. Last time I came home a day early, and the old perv fell on his knees and thanked me."

"Well, you deserve good food."

"What I _deserve_ is to be treated as badly as I treated you when I first arrived."

"No, you don't!"

Eighteen grinned. "So, you admit I treated you poorly."

His eyes widened in panic. "I didn't mean—"

"Krillin, it's okay. I was horrible. You deserved better, and I promise totreat you better in the future."

He grasped the hand on his shoulder. "You already do, and besides you were hurting. I understood then, and I understand now."

"My hurting isn't an excuse."

"Maybe not, but I forgive you."

She winked at him. "Yet another reason to love you."

"I hope you aren't saying all this just to make up for the past."

"Do you think so little of me—that I could mistake a guilty conscience for romantic feelings? In all the time you've known me, have I ever apologized to anyone? For anything?"

Krillin shook his head.

"So, clearly, I'm not declaring my feelings as a way to apologize. I'm apologizing because of how I feel."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Do you need more reasons?" Not waiting for a response, she went on: "Because you move heaven and earth for my tiniest smile. Because you're the one person in my life I can completely trust. Because you allow me to make mistakes and never judge me for them."

"Those are all great qualities for a friend."

"You _are_ my friend. But we can be more." Something occurred to her then that, in all her planning and preparation, she hadn't considered. "You do _want_ to be more, don't you, Krillin?"

"Eighteen…"

 _Oh, no._ He didn't. How could she have been so foolish? How—?

"Of course, I do. I've loved you since…well, for a long time. But…"

Eighteen was so relieved that she nearly missed his explanation. Hearing how ludicrous it sounded, she almost wished she had. "Taking advantage of me?"

"You said it yourself. You trust me, and I don't want to violate that trust by—"

"Being a complete idiot?"

He appeared genuinely hurt by that. "This isn't easy for me, you know."

"Good."

"But—"

"Krillin, I don't need you to save me from myself. I admit I've missed out on a few experiences, but I know my own heart, and my heart is set on you."

His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Was she finally getting through to him?

"Then how about this for a reason? Because I get weak in the knees when you smile at me."

"Eighteen?"

 _There, he said it_ that _way._

"Because my breathing shallows and my pulse quickens when you walk around without a shirt." She slid closer until their knees touched. He didn't pull away. "Because whenever I find you napping on the beach, I have to force myself not to pounce on you." She caressed his face, teasing his lower lip with her thumb and causing him to whimper. "Because so often I've dreamed of breaking into your room at night and making you mine." _Here goes._ She straddled his lap and gazed lovingly into his eyes. His hands moved as if magnetically drawn to rest on her hips. "Because in my heart, I'm your woman already. Because…"

She leaned in and closed her eyes, hovering just centimeters from his lips. She longed to taste his kiss, to plunge her tongue into his mouth, to conquer and claim and be claimed. But the final say had to be his.

With a groan, Krillin made his decision. Their lips met, tearing cries from both their throats. His arms went around her back and pulled her tight against him. He sought to deepen the kiss, and she responded enthusiastically.

When their embrace ended several breathless minutes later, Eighteen lay panting against him. "Now, do you believe me?"

His lips, weary from their workout, managed to quirk into a grin. "You have thoroughly convinced me."

"Good. Now before we take this upstairs and continue behind closed doors…why do _you_ love _me_?"

"Are you sure you can wait that long?"

She swatted him playfully. "I didn't say I was going to make you mine _tonight_. Although I can guarantee you, it _will_ be soon."

He chuckled and squeezed her gently. "I just meant that if I listed every reason, we'd be here all night."

"Can't have that. Let's start with the top…"

"The top eighteen?" He wiggled his brows.

She smirked. "I don't recall your corny sense of humor being on my list."

He shrugged. "Number one: you _put up with_ my corny sense of humor. Number two—mmph!"

When they finished their second round of kissing, she grabbed him by the hand and led him upstairs.

"What about the rest of the list?"

"Tomorrow," she said. "Right now, there's a big comfy bed with our names written all over it."

 _ **The End**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews and comments are appreciated.**_


	8. Aces & Eighteens

_Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 _To my favorite artist. Happy birthday, Jen._

 _ **Note:** This story is references events from the _Kame Island Romance _stories "Amends" and "Lessons Learned" and the_ K18 Flash Fiction _"Yippee Ki-yay", but you needn't have read those stories to enjoy this one._

 **Aces & Eighteens**

 **By koinekid**

"What were you and Papa doing in there?"

Eighteen scooped her daughter into her arms and nuzzled her cheek. It had been a close call. A tiny knock sounded at her and Krillin's bedroom door while they were in the throes of passion. They tried to be quiet while sneaking a few minutes of love before their daughter awoke, but inevitably, little moans and giggles escaped—not to mention louder sounds when they really got into it. And Marron had ears like a hawk. Fortunately, they were almost finished with their toe-curling session when the knock came, and Eighteen swallowed Krillin's cries of passion with a kiss. She missed the cuddling afterward, but both understood the need to tend to their daughter. Dressing quickly in her only clean clothes—the dreaded western wear—Eighteen splashed on some perfume and met their daughter at the door.

"Papa and I were playing."

"I want to play."

"What should we play?"

Marron toyed with the fringe on her mama's vest. "Cowboys."

"How do we play?"

Marron screwed up her face. "I don't know."

Eighteen thought back to the black-and-white western she and Krillin watched the previous month. She paid it little attention, but Krillin was absorbed, so she didn't ask him to change it. _Ah._ "The first thing a cowboy does is eat breakfast."

Marron eyed her skeptically. "What do they eat?"

Eighteen considered what they had in the pantry. "Oatmeal."

"Do they eat it with honey?"

"Every morning."

Marron grinned. "Okay."

* * *

Marron shrieked through the house, fleeing from _the blonde bandit_. Pulling down the red bandanna hiding her face, Eighteen shushed her daughter. "Let's play quietly, Sheriff. Papa needs his sleep."

Living in their own home gave Eighteen a freedom to interact with her daughter she never felt in Kame House. Even when her family managed to be alone on the island, her discomfort in knowing Roshi and Oolong could return at any moment made her awkward. But here she could cut loose, and her and Marron's relationship blossomed.

"Why does Papa have to sleep all day? He should be playing with us."

Eighteen smiled. Krillin would forgo sleep to play with his girls if she asked him, which is exactly why she didn't. She sat on the couch and beckoned her daughter to join her. "Your papa needs to be well-rested when he catches the bad guys tonight."

Marron snuggled into her lap. "Why can't he catch them during the day? Don't bad guys have to sleep too?"

Eighteen tousled her daughter's hair. Marron always liked it when Krillin did that. Untying the bandanna, Eighteen handed it to Marron, who clutched it like a security blanket. When Seventeen left it behind during his last visit, Marron claimed it as her own, generously lending it to Mama to complete her bandit look. The familiarity she felt tying it on made Eighteen uncomfortable.

When Marron began tugging on her mama's fringe once more, affection for the previously hated clothes spread through Eighteen. She still wouldn't wear them in public, but at home, yeah. Role play certainly spiced things up for her and Krillin this morning, and any garment that led to more hugs with her daughter was okay by her.

With these good feelings came unexpected guilt as she realized that the clothes were still technically stolen property. She'd never made things right with the store owner from whom she'd taken them.

But Eighteen had stolen so much in her life. She couldn't be expected to make restitution with everyone she'd wronged—even if she could remember who they were. She'd nearly tamped down her guilt when Marron asked, "Mama, were you ever a cowboy?"

Eighteen shook her head.

"Then where'd you get these neat clothes?"

"I…" She looked into her daughter's innocent, trusting eyes. Maybe she couldn't make everything right, but she could make _this_ right. She held Marron close to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

* * *

The store was more rundown than she remembered. Cracks were visible in the masonry, and paint had chipped off the walls and not been replaced. Nine years had passed since her first visit to the store, but Eighteen was taking no chances on being recognized. She wore a knee-length raincoat cinched at the waist, a pair of dark shades, and—tying back her distinctive blonde mane—her brother's bandanna. Once she confessed her misdeeds and her intention to pay for the stolen clothes, Marron proudly kissed Mama's cheek and insisted she borrow it for luck.

Securing a babysitter for her daughter proved easy even last minute, though "Aunt Videl" got more than she bargained for. From the moment she arrived, Marron talked her ear off about Mama's good deed. Eighteen would have preferred no one else know about her plan—she wasn't even going to tell Krillin—but her daughter's praise warmed her heart and silenced her protests. How a former juvenile delinquent could become the object of such adoration from _two_ wonderful people still amazed her.

As she pretended to browse the leather wallets near the cash register, she discretely scanned the store for security cameras. Any video footage of her previous crime should have been destroyed already, but old habits die hard, and she found herself approaching this visit with as much care as one of her old shoplifting capers.

Doing so steadied her nerves, rattled by the owner's enthusiastic _Howdy, Missy!_ when the whoosh of the automatic door announced her entry. His attention quickly returned to his only other customer, an elderly man dithering over the purchase of a white cowboy hat, but Eighteen was spooked already. News headlines proclaiming _Cop_ _'s Wife Arrested_ and _Family Disgraced_ danced in front of her eyes. Only the fear of disappointing Marron kept her from turning tail and tossing a wad of cash over her shoulder as she fled.

A happy family greeted her as she flipped open one of the wallets. Smiling at the sample picture, she thought about buying the wallet for Krillin. She finished Christmas shopping weeks ago, but a little something extra never hurt. He was always buying gifts for her and Marron, after all.

Eighteen returned the wallet to the display; it was too inexpensive. Her plan called for purchasing a single, moderately priced item and distracting the cashier while she left an extra ten thousand zeni note—more than enough to pay for the stolen clothes—with her payment on the counter. A cheap item would make the purchase look like a cover, and multiple items invited extra attention when ringing up the total. But a mid-priced item encouraged the clerk to scan and move on.

She and her brother used to pull the same trick in reverse. One would underpay for an item, call out _Keep the change_ , and breeze toward the exit, while the other created a diversion. By the time anyone noticed a discrepancy in the till, both would be long gone. It would feel good to put one of their old cons to good use for a change.

Searching the racks for a suitably priced shirt in Krillin's size caused her to blush as she considered the fun they might have stepping up their role play. She shook her head to banish the thought. She needed to focus on her mission, not daydream about her husband.

Buying an outfit for Marron was similarly out of the question. Eighteen tended to overspend where her daughter was concerned, and paying for Marron's items separately with a credit card would draw the very attention she sought to avoid. It would also create a record of her visit.

As she debated her options, she barely noticed her fellow customer shuffle by. Only when the door opened did she realize that the old man hadn't visited the register. The owner, meanwhile, remained where his customer left him, slump-shouldered and returning the hat to its shelf.

His behavior when she exited the store years earlier had been markedly different. But then, it was only natural to pursue a thief into the street, especially one who brazenly mocked the fact that she had no intention of paying. She took pleasure then at his frustration while banging on the window of her brother's stolen van. Now, she felt only shame as the man busied himself brushing imaginary dust from the crown of the unsold hat.

On impulse, she stepped toward him. "I'll take it."

The owner turned, giving her a peculiar look. Eighteen held her breath, quickly losing confidence in her disguise. Then a smile broke out on his face. "I don't see many folks your age interested in western wear."

She shrugged. "There's no accounting for taste."

"True." He laughed heartily. "But, Miss, this hat is much too big for you. Let's find another—"

"No!"

The owner blinked at her outburst.

Eighteen thought quickly. "The hat is…for my grandfather. He's the same size as the old man who just left."

"It may look that way, but hat sizes are tricky. It's best to bring Gramps in for a custom fit."

Removing her shades, Eighteen massaged the area between her eyes. Was this guy trying to blow a sale? No wonder his business was circling the drain. "If it doesn't fit, I'll return it."

The man went stone-faced. "All sales are final."

She gritted her teeth. "Understood. I'll chance it."

"Are you sure? I have a great selection of wallets and belts, or if you know his shirt size—"

"Grandpa wants a hat. I'm buying him a hat!"

The owner raised his hands in surrender, but he wasn't finished yet. Retrieving the hat from the shelf, he began to list its attributes: top quality wool felt construction, leather sweatband, twisted leather exterior band, and—"Check this out." He flipped the hat over to display the lining, on which was printed a full-color illustration of a cowboy watering his horse.

"It's perfect. Can we…?" Eighteen gestured in the direction of the register.

"Of course." He took a step, then paused. "I also have the hat in black if he'd prefer."

"White is fine."

"It's silver belly, actually—a very popular color for cowboy hats."

Eighteen sighed. "Close enough."

At the register, she declined to purchase a hat box or message card and vigorously shook her head when he indicated her wedding band and asked, "Something for your spouse, perhaps?" When he finally announced the total—just over 9,600 zeni—she practically slammed the two bank notes on the counter before snatching the bag containing the hat and stalking to the door.

"Miss!"

"Keep the change," she snarled, loosening the knot on the bandanna as she went. All she wanted was to get home and put this incredibly annoying good deed behind her.

Before she could exit, however, a hand clamped on her arm and spun her around. The owner's irritated face appeared in her field of vision. "Missy, you didn't pay enough. See?"

He held up the cash, and Eighteen grimaced. Each note was missing a zero. She could have sworn she plunked down twenty thousand zeni, not two thousand.

Lowering her bag to the floor, she opened her raincoat to reach the wallet in her skirt pocket, unintentionally revealing the western clothes she still wore beneath. Too late, she realized her mistake.

"You?" The man adjusted his glasses. "You're the thief from before."

Eighteen glanced down at her clothes, cursing herself for being too impatient to finish the laundry before she left home. "No, I mean, yes, but—"

"I'm calling the police." He dug a cheap cell phone out of his pocket.

"There's no need. Here, I'm paying." She held out the money she originally intended to offer.

"That's double what you owe. Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Bribe? No, it's—my daughter—I wanted to—"

"Now you're bringing your kid into it? That's low, lady, even for a thief like you." He punched numbers into the keypad as he spoke. "I bet you're not even married. That ring is just a ruse to gain my sympathy. Hello, police? I'm being robbed—"

"Stop it!" Her hand shot out and snatched the phone away from him. The move surprised them both. "Just let me explain."

Glowering at her, he extended a hand. She sighed, about to give the phone back when the operator's voice over the receiver startled her. Her hand squeezed reflexively, crushing the device in her grip.

The owner shrank back, stumbling when she moved his way. In his eyes, she saw the same fear she and her brother inspired when they terrorized cities and villages as part of the Red Ribbon Army, the same fear their alternative selves must have provoked when they were destroying the world for the thrill of it.

Eighteen shook her head, the money falling to the floor as she backed out of the store. In full view of the owner and the townsfolk outside, she took to the sky and fled.

* * *

She'd been flying aimlessly for fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what to tell Marron and— _oh, God_ —Krillin, when she realized something was missing. Halting in midair, she checked every pocket in her raincoat and skirt. It was no use. The bandanna Marron entrusted to her was gone. She could've lost it at any point during her flight.

But wait, had the bandanna even been in her pocket? She remembered untying it when she was about to leave the store. Then the owner spun her around. She must have dropped it then!

The relief that flooded her dissipated almost immediately. She had to go back for it, and that meant facing the owner once more.

* * *

Eighteen could hardly believe her eyes when she landed on the roof of the building opposite the store. The police cars hovering above the street were no surprise, nor were the town cops in their dark blue uniforms interviewing witnesses, nor the owner gesticulating wildly as he described his encounter with her. The way he raised his arms above his head and growled as if relating a monster story to a child was annoying but not unexpected. What threw her was the presence, amid the sea of blue, of the unmistakable green polo of Satan City's finest officer.

As if he could sense her—and he probably could—her husband looked up. They locked eyes, and she retreated from the edge of the roof and waited. By the time the cops dispersed and Krillin could get away, she had seated herself against the roof hatch with her eyes closed and her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

His shadow soon loomed over her, and she opened one eye in time to see him unbuckle his police helmet and set it aside. The significance of the gesture wasn't lost on her. Krillin the cop was taking a break, so Krillin her husband could sit next to her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. "Why are you here?" The question came out harsher than she intended, but Krillin ignored her tone.

"Nakamura's wife went into labor, so the chief called me in for an early shift."

"Called you to a town outside your jurisdiction?"

"SCPD sometimes loans me out for special cases."

"Like flying women terrorizing local shopkeepers," she said bitterly.

Krillin squeezed her knee. "Tell me what happened."

Releasing a long, shuddering sigh, she recounted the tale from Marron's first innocent query to her own well-intentioned decision to pay for the clothes and the mess that turned into. Somewhere along the way, her arms uncrossed, and her hand sought out his.

He listened patiently, his thumb stroking her knuckles and almost making her believe everything could be okay. When she finished, he gave her hand a final squeeze and reached for his helmet.

She caught his sleeve, not ready for the cop to return. She needed her husband a moment longer.

"Eighteen?"

"Are you… are you disappointed in me?"

"Oh, baby. Never." He pulled her into his arms and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips. "I'm _proud_ of you."

Their position allowed her to look up at him. "For getting us into this mess?"

"For trying to do the right thing. I won't deny you should have gone about it differently, but your heart was in the right place."

She frowned, unable to deny it either. A tear slid down her cheek, and Krillin drew a cloth from his pocket to wipe it away. A _red_ cloth. She gasped. "Marron's bandanna! You found it."

"The townies wanted to take it for evidence, but I talked them into letting me keep it."

"How did you know it was hers?"

"Your daughter is _also_ very proud of you and wants everybody to know the whole story."

Eighteen blanched. "Define _everybody_."

"When I left, she was on the phone with Goten. Videl said she'd already told Trunks and called Oolong to demand he cook you a celebration dinner."

"Did she tell any of her classmates?"

"Videl restricted her calls to Earth's Special Forces families."

"Good girl." Eighteen offered a weak smile. "She's invited to the dinner."

Krillin laughed. "Yeah."

"So, what now?"

"Now, we go back to the store and explain what happened."

"What if he still wants to press charges?"

"I can be pretty persuasive. I convinced you to go out with me, didn't I?"

She gave him a be-serious look. "I don't want you jeopardizing your job over this."

"I'd rather lose it than you."

"I mean it, Krillin. I love our life, and I don't want to see everything we worked for disappear."

"It won't."

"How can you be sure?"

"Do you trust me?"

She handed him his helmet.

* * *

Krillin's ease at making friends and navigating awkward social situations continually impressed her. Eighteen's own friendships were fewer and more hard-fought, but her husband could make anyone feel cared for with a few simple words, a trait that served him well as a police officer. Even now, he was laughing and joking with the very man who wanted to see his wife incarcerated.

Granted, that man had no idea that the thief who stole from his store nine years prior had married a cop, let alone this one in particular. So far as he knew, Officer Krillin had dropped by to update him on the minutes-old investigation of today's "theft." She and Krillin agreed he should approach the owner first while she waited outside for a signal to join them.

By focusing her enhanced senses, she could easily follow the conversation as it occurred inside the store, and the first thing she noticed was Krillin addressing the owner, a Mr. Sekido, by name. Eighteen, intent on getting in and out without making an impression, hadn't bothered to exchange introductions.

The second sound she noticed was Krillin tapping the security code into his phone. She insisted he set one up before sending him a few risqué _I-miss-you_ snapshots when he went away to police academy.

"I'm going to show you a few photos of the suspect," he told Sekido.

Eighteen raised a brow, reminding herself that her husband knew better than to share _those_ pics with anyone.

"That's her!" Sekido shouted. "Wow, that jacket has seen better days."

Eighteen blinked. Was Krillin showing off the first photo he took of her after she moved into Kame House? That was an odd choice. In it, she wore an old, ragged coat stolen from a charity box. He gifted her with a replacement coat a few weeks later, but she kept the old one to remind herself that her stay with Krillin and his roommates would be temporary.

"Yeah." Krillin chuckled nervously. "She'd been in a pretty rough spot when that photo was taken."

Sekido snorted. "Had she run out of things to steal?"

Krillin declined to comment. "Let's look at a few more to be sure." He (presumably) swiped to the next screen.

"I'm telling you that's her. She's even wearing the same shirt she wore into my store."

Eighteen shook her head. It wasn't the same shirt, but an identical one. She left the original tattered and torn in the dressing room of this very store. If this second photo were the one she thought it was, the shirt would have been the first item she bought with money she earned legitimately.

 _Hmm, I wonder._ Eighteen drew her own phone from her skirt pocket and loaded the photo app. Should the next image in the sequence turn out to be a candid shot of her reading in the kitchen at Kame House, then she had a very good idea what Krillin was showing the other man. She opened a slideshow entitled "Favorite Memories of My Girls."

"Was this taken at juvenile hall?" Sekido asked.

"No, at the kitchen table."

 _Bingo!_ The photo depicted what was then a rare unguarded moment for Eighteen. Krillin had lent her a stack of paperbacks, and she quickly became absorbed in one of them, which allowed him to snap the photo without her noticing.

She loved this slideshow. Krillin surprised her with it their first night alone in the new house. With Marron sleeping at her godmother's (Chi-Chi relished every opportunity to babysit her favorite little girl), her parents enjoyed a low-key evening at home: takeout dinner, dancing in their socks, and to top it off, cuddling on the couch, faces pressed intimately together, as they swiped through the memories on the small screen. Her only complaint was how few of the photos Krillin appeared in, though that was understandable since he took most of them himself.

Sekido's voice brought her back to the present. "It's a pity."

 _What is?_ she wanted to ask. Krillin did it for her.

"That she became a criminal. She's a real beauty."

Krillin agreed. Eighteen smirked. _He better._

She followed along as her husband narrated slides depicting a woman coming to grips with her living situation. In one, she glared at Roshi and Oolong; in the next, she merely rolled her eyes at their antics. There were photos of dinners with Chi-Chi and her boys, a shot of Eighteen covered in soot after a small house fire— _don_ _'t ask_ —and images of her first real date with Krillin. (He didn't have to work all that hard at convincing her to go.)

The next photo he snapped the morning after they became engaged. Sunlight glinted off her diamond as she slept peacefully, hair fanned out on the pillow. Her old coat lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. She tossed it out later that day.

More images followed: of Eighteen in her wedding gown, a noticeable bump in her belly and a radiant smile on her face; of her at the hospital, sweat dripping from her brow as she labored to bring their daughter into the world—no photos of the actual birth existed, Eighteen having warned Krillin that she would make herself a widow if he didn't put his phone away. He did capture the moment she held her daughter for the first time, though.

"So she was telling the truth about the kid." Sekido's voice had lost some of its ire.

"Her name is Marron." Krillin skipped forward a few images. "Here's a shot of her first day at kindergarten. We were so nervous."

"We?" Sekido asked.

Krillin moved on to a shot of Eighteen with Marron on her hip at the front door of their new home in Satan City. Marron herself took the next photo as Papa carried Mama over the threshold. You couldn't see his face, but Mama wore a huge grin. Then came images of Auntie Eighteen cradling Seventeen's newborn, of Marron staring in awe at her baby cousin, of Marron and the other Special Forces kids seated at a yellow plastic table at one of the group's parties. Trunks and Goten wore sour looks at being excluded from the adult table, then brightened when Eighteen came to sit with them.

"You might not think it to look at her," Krillin said. "But she's great with kids."

Sekido sighed. "What are these pictures supposed to prove?"

"That people can change, and the woman who visited your shop today is a very different person than the one who stole from you almost a decade ago."

"You know her personally, don't you?"

Krillin swiped to the last entry in the slideshow, the only one to contain a clear image of his face. Unlike the others, this was a video clip, recorded by Seventeen at Marron's fourth birthday party. Krillin tapped play, and the sounds of the small family gathering filled the store. The video showed both her parents huddled close to her, holding hands and beaming as she blew out the candles on her cake—all by herself.

"Mama, Papa, I did it!"

Eighteen hugged her child without reservation. "You did so good, baby."

Marron squealed in delight as Mama peppered her chubby cheek with kisses.

Outside, Eighteen's stomach twisted in knots. She understood why Krillin would play the video, but hearing a private family moment shared with an outsider made her feel embarrassed and vulnerable. She hated it. Taking a breath to steady herself, she shifted position to watch her husband and the store owner through the display window.

As the video ended, Krillin returned the phone to its holster. Removing his glove, he held up his wedding ring. "Her name is Eighteen, and I know her very well."

Sekido's face darkened. "I guess that settles that. A cop isn't going to arrest his wife for theft."

"I couldn't arrest Eighteen for theft if I wanted to. The statute of limitations expired two years ago, and her only crime today was breaking your phone. We intend to pay for that, by the way."

"You're conveniently forgetting about her stealing the hat." Sekido crossed his arms.

"You mean the hat she was trying to pay for when you dialed the police?" Krillin pulled his glove back on. "My wife could have waltzed in here bragging about her theft, and you couldn't have done a thing. But she tried to make it right and pay you back for what she stole."

"By bribery."

"By intentionally overpaying. She put down the wrong bills by mistake."

"If your wife was so fired up about righting a past wrong, why the deception?"

"Because I was ashamed."

Both men turned toward the door to find Eighteen standing there. She smiled apologetically at Krillin. "I got antsy."

He nodded in encouragement and stepped back. The floor was hers.

She walked slowly forward, hands clasped in front of her. Despite her nonthreatening posture, Sekido flinched. She halted immediately and bowed.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Eighteen said, "Do you have children?"

The man appeared bewildered, so she repeated her question. Finally, he said, "A son."

"What's his name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Undeterred, Eighteen asked, "Would you do anything to make your son proud?"

"Of course." He seemed offended she would even ask.

"I feel the same. When my little girl asked about these clothes, I had to look her in the eye and tell her Mama was a thief. I also promised her I would make it right, but I chickened out. I tried to ease my own conscience without facing up to my past. I was wrong, and for that, I can only ask for your forgiveness." She stepped closer. "Will you please let me repay you for what I stole and for the phone I broke?"

"I suppose you're going to tell me that I'm the last person you ever stole from."

"No, Mr. Sekido. I stole clothes and jewelry from a woman's house the very same day."

"And did you make things right with her?"

"I did. She's now one of my best friends."

"I have enough friends," the man snapped.

Eighteen offered no retort, simply waited for him to go on.

"What if I still want to press charges"—he glared at Krillin—"for the phone?"

Her husband started to object, but Eighteen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll respect your decision and remain here while you call the police. I'll even lend you my phone to dial them."

The store owner regarded the couple for a long while, scratching his chin. At last, he smiled and shook his head. "Yoshiro. My son's name is Yoshiro."

* * *

"It's sooooo cute. Thank you, Mama, Papa." Marron twirled in her brand-new cowboy outfit, laughing as the fringe on her vest swung about. A child-sized hat the same shade of red as her prized bandanna hung from a chin strap (or _stampede string_ as Mr. Sekido called it) around her neck. The bandanna itself was in its proper place tied loosely around her neck.

Krillin ruffled her hair. "You're welcome, Firefly."

She beamed before plopping the hat back on her head and scampering off to search the store for her new friend. "Yoshiro?"

"Marron, don't run indoors," Eighteen called, and her daughter slowed to a safer gait.

Mr. Sekido came to stand beside them. "Rambunctious, isn't she?"

Eighteen smiled. "Thank you for being tactful."

"Thank _you_ for all the business." He shook his head in amusement. "Convincing your daughter's entire class and their parents to hold a western day? I've sold more clothes this week than the last six months combined. Not to mention everything you guys have bought personally."

"Your clothes are high quality."

"Even if they aren't exactly your style?" He grinned.

"They're…growing on me."

He laughed. "It's okay. There's no accounting for taste, right?"

She blushed, and Krillin pulled her close. He wore his own western gear, and Eighteen felt a thrill run up her spine at being held by him. The outfit had indeed enhanced their role play last night. And again this morning.

"Hey, guys, watch this." Slipping behind the register, Sekido adopted a stern demeanor. "Yoshiro, could you and your friend come over here for a moment?"

She and Krillin exchanged a look, unsure what he was up to. When Yoshiro and Marron arrived, Sekido produced two stick horses from behind the counter, handing one to his son and offering one to Marron. Eighteen hoped her daughter would at least pretend excitement at such an old-fashioned toy.

Marron's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Oh, wow. Mama, can I?" She practically vibrated with eagerness.

Eighteen nodded, and Marron squealed with joy, grabbing the toy and going off with Yoshiro to round up imagined bad guys.

Krillin grinned. "How much do we owe you for that?"

Sekido waved him off. "Consider it a gift. With all the new business, I probably owe you ten of those. Which reminds me." He again reached behind the counter.

Krillin poked Eighteen in the side. "He isn't actually going to give _us_ one of those things, is he?"

She shushed him. "Be nice."

"Here we are." Sekido placed a hat box on the counter. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

Curious, she did. "It's—"

"The hat you paid for. The police returned it yesterday."

Pulling the hat from the box, she looked at Krillin.

He tapped the brim of his own cowboy hat. "Already have one. Maybe we could track down the old man who tried it on that day?"

Marron and her friend trotted by on their stick horses. "Old man? Mama, did you buy a present for Grampa Roshi too?"

Eighteen knelt and hugged Marron. "I didn't, but that's a good idea. We'll give it to him tonight at the celebration dinner." Rising, she turned back to Sekido. "Would you and your son like to join us?"

He blinked. "Really?"

She raised a brow. "I know you aren't looking for friends, but…"

Yoshiro looked up at him hopefully.

Sekido smiled. "Missy, we'd be delighted."

 _ **The End.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_

 _ **Note:**_ _I originally intended not to name the store owner, since he_ _'s only a walk-on character in the show and manga. However, calling him "the owner" and "the man" for several thousand words grew tedious. So, I named him in honor of Japanese Bull Rider Sekido "Mac" Makoto. The store owner's son is named for no one in particular._


	9. Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper

_**For Chestnut Fest 2019 Day 6: Confession**_

 _Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended._

 **Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper**

 **By Koinekid**

Eighteen took a deep breath to forestall killing her roommate. "Since when does _pick up groceries_ translate to _buy beer and corn chips at a convenience store_?

Glancing up from the kitchen table, Oolong popped a chip into his mouth and chewed. Very. Slowly. "If you don't like what I buy, why don't you write a shopping list?"

"That's _your_ job."

"Then, I'll keep buying whatever I want."

A vein throbbed in her forehead. "Fine, I'll make a list. Where's the paper?"

"Beats me."

"Then, how do you write your lists?"

"I don't." The pig tapped his temple. "I remember everything."

"It isn't hard to remember two items."

"Three. I bought two kinds of corn chips."

Eighteen released a frustrated growl and rummaged through the drawers and cabinets for a notepad or loose-leaf paper. Coming up empty-handed, she stalked to the living room, resisting the urge to kick over the pig's chair as she passed. "Hey, old man. Where do you keep the paper in this dump?"

A lecherous grin split Roshi's face as he held up a dirty magazine. "Here's the only paper I care about. Want to keep an old man company and read it together?" He patted the spot beside him on the couch.

Eighteen's eye twitched. Nothing for it. She would have to kill them both and hide their bodies before Krillin returned. An appropriate response given the circumstances, she reasoned.

Lost in thought, she missed a comment from the pig. "Huh?"

"I said, _Krillin probably has some_. Check his room."

"Good idea, pig. As thanks, I'll let you live another day."

"Of course it's a…" Oolong gave her a wary glance before shoving another corn chip into his mouth. "That's not funny."

"Who said I was joking?" She grinned wickedly as she ascended the stairs.

###

Krillin kept a tidy room. Eighteen knew as much observing it from the hall. But tidy did not mean organized. A search of his desk turned up no loose paper and only one notebook, its every page filled with scribbles. She found a second notebook on his dresser and a legal pad on his bed, both also full. Leaving all three in a neat stack on his desk, she prepared to abandon her quest and go yell at Oolong some more when she noticed a folded sheet of paper sticking out of the top notebook. She must have missed it earlier while fanning the pages.

Drawing out the paper, she was pleased to find its outsides blank. Ignoring the possibility that Krillin may have written something on the interior, she retrieved a pen from his desk and jotted down a rudimentary list: eggs, bread, rice, oranges for an energy boost in the morning…

Eighteen shook her head. When did she start playing mother to three grown "men"? Well, make that, two. Krillin wasn't so bad.

She unfolded the paper, intent on tearing it in half—no need to waste the entire sheet—when she confirmed her earlier suspicion. Krillin had folded the paper for a reason. She didn't intend to read what he wrote, but a few keywords caught her eye and compelled her to consume every word. As she did, her pulse quickened, her cheeks grew rosy, and she began to see her favorite roommate in a new light.

"Oh, my. Krillin."

###

Had Krillin thought about it, he would have found the quiet of Kame House unnerving. Other than Oolong's grunt of acknowledgment and the sounds of a game show coming from the living room, all was silent as he passed through the kitchen and trudged up the stairs.

He considered knocking on Eighteen's door to say hi. The duffel with his training gear slung over his shoulder provided a convenient excuse to cut the visit short if things became awkward. Thinking better of it, he retreated to his own room.

An apology sprang to his lips when he spotted Eighteen standing by the desk, but he stifled it and left quietly. With her back turned, his intrusion may have gone unnoticed. If not, he would know momentarily. He braced himself for a tirade about spying on her and living up to his perverted master's teachings.

… _Wait a minute._

Knocking on his own door as he eased it open felt surreal. "Uh, Eighteen, is there anything I can do for you?"

She whirled around with an eager smile. "Oh, yeah. Lots."

Krillin swallowed hard. "Um…"

A severe demeanor replaced her pleasant one. An eyebrow arched, and her lips compressed into a thin line. With a crook of her finger, she invited Krillin into his room.

"Explain this." She showed him a piece of paper.

His eyes widened when he recognized it. "Oh, no." Snatching it from her, he started to tear it up.

"Don't you dare!" She seized his hands. "Now, explain."

He blushed. "It's a love letter."

"I can see that. Why did I find it in your room? Isn't it finished?"

He nodded slowly. "The letter is complete, yes."

"Then, why didn't I see it before now?" She assumed a chiding tone. "Were you planning to sneak into my room and leave it on my pillow?"

"No, I—hey, you snuck into _my_ room. Why were _you_ here?"

"Focus, Krillin. When were you planning to give me my love letter?"

"I…wasn't."

Her face fell. "You weren't?"

Did she sound disappointed? It must have been his imagination. "I'm sorry, Eighteen. I never intended for you to read this."

Her voice became a whisper, and he had to lean in to hear. "You didn't mean these words?"

Lying would be the safer course, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Of course, I meant them, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Why would I be uncomfortable?"

"You're always complaining about the others hitting on you. I wanted to tell you how I feel, but I promised myself you'd always have one person in this house who treated you like a friend, not an object."

"Amazing." Eighteen smirked, shaking her head. "The only guy in this house who refuses to hit on me is the one I _want_ to do it."

"You—you do?"

"As long as you use words like this." She gestured at the letter still clutched in his hand. "Got anymore?"

"I've written you a dozen love letters."

"Gimme!"

Krillin's burgeoning smile faltered. "I can't. I destroyed them so no one would stumble across them. I would have destroyed this one too if I hadn't misplaced it."

"How could you destroy such beautiful words?" She reclaimed the letter, glaring at him as if challenging him to damage it.

"Sorry," he offered lamely.

"I can tell the difference between lust and affection, you know."

"I know."

"And these are clearly words of affection." She waved the letter at him.

"I know. I wrote them."

Eighteen crossed her arms and resumed glaring at him. Wisely, he refrained from further comment as she mulled things over. Finally, like a displeased schoolmaster, she pointed at his desk. "Sit."

He pulled up a chair.

"Do you have more paper?" she asked.

"In the closet."

"Why is it—? Never mind." She retrieved the paper and set a fresh sheet and pen in front of him. "Write me another love letter."

"But, Eighteen—"

"Now." She perched on the bed and re-crossed her arms.

He could feel her watching him as he lifted the pen. It stymied him.

Pouring out his heart was easy when he knew she would never read the result. It felt more like keeping a journal than composing a letter. He made several false starts, crossing out sappy openings and sighing at his own failure to convey what this woman meant to him. He set down his pen and hung his head.

Closing his eyes, he pictured Eighteen as she appeared when she didn't know he was looking: biting her lip in concentration or brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He remembered the way her brow compressed when she bickered with their roommates; the joy in her face when she mastered some new technique—fighting or culinary; the musical sound of her genuine laughter; the way she celebrated, fist pumping in excitement when she bested him at something, not mocking him—she seldom did that anymore—but more like seeking his approval or asking him to celebrate with her.

He pictured Eighteen as only he knew her, and the words flowed. For minutes on end, he wrote, barely noticing her reading over his shoulder. He filled the page front and back, and when he reached for a second sheet, her hand covered his.

"Hey, I'm not finished."

Eighteen smiled. "I know, and I want you to. But for now, why don't you _tell_ me how you feel? And"—she licked her lips—"maybe show me?"

"E-eighteen?"

Pulling him to his feet, she guided him to the bed, where her lips claimed his.

Naturally, that was the moment they were interrupted. A throat cleared, and Oolong asked, "Do I need to make a trip to the pharmacy aisle as well?"

Krillin had never seen someone driven through a wall by the force of a thrown pillow before. But that was a great thing about Eighteen—she introduced him to new and exciting experiences. He should add that to his letter, and he would, later. For now, the look in the eyes of the woman he loved told him that, for the next few minutes, he would be a little preoccupied.

 _ **The End.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


End file.
